


Tainted Touch

by Kallanda_Lee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Assassination, BDSM, Bad Puns, Beating, Belting, Body Horror, Bottom Bucky, Broken Dick, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Buttplugs, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Denial of Feelings, Dildos, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dominatrix, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Femdom, Figging, Flashbacks, Flogging, Forced Orgasm, Genital Torture, HTP, HYDRA Trash Party, Heterosexual Sex, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Leashes, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male rape, Masturbation, Men Crying, Mirrors, Natasha Feels, No Lube, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Obedience, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Other, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Natasha Romanov, Punishment, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reluctant Sadist, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Abuse, Stun Batons, Sub Bucky Barnes, Submission, Top Drop, Training, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, asshole whipping, buckynat - Freeform, defiant Bucky Barnes, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallanda_Lee/pseuds/Kallanda_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a Hydra Trash party prompt. Chapters have been somewhat changed since the meme.</p><p>Because decades of man-on-man Hydra rapes, Bucky basically can't get it up with a woman anymore, certainly not if he's expected to be the more active party. He can't get hard during a blowjob, he can't stay erect long enough to actually have intercourse.</p><p>In short: "Bucky Barnes gets raped by everyone, Natasha  tries to help him with kinky sex, then things get complicated because of real feelings.</p><p>It's a bit of a strange story because flashbacks are mainly m/m noncon, but the main romantic pairing is m/f. But hey, someone out there must have the same kinks.</p><p>Starts Bucky-centric but there will be a lot more Nat from ch.6</p><p>Please note this story has graphic rape flashbacks. If you haven't come from the HTP and you want to read the story but skip or ignore those - they are the parts in italic.</p><p>Original prompt: http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1504.html?thread=2183392#cmt2183392</p><p>There is now a Chinese translation! http://archiveofourown.org/works/11408871/chapters/25555266</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Like the Old Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is your final warning that what you're about to read has male rape, sexual coercion, and unhealthy sexual situations. 
> 
> (and also essentially a sappy love story, but that's for later)
> 
> Tags will be added as story progresses.
> 
> No beta, not my native language, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> This will update fairly slowly.

He knew relatively early on something was  _wrong_.   
  
He looked at girls, but it wasn't like before. He thought they were beautiful, noticed the way their hips swayed as they walked, the way their hair fell, the way their lips curled when the smiled...but he didn't  _feel_  the way he used to. Not that he could be sure about the reliability of his memories. But still...any stirring in his pants remained suspiciously absent.  
  
He blamed it on trauma. He was sure it would sort itself out in time. Even back in the war, the big one, there were guys who came back shell-shocked and had trouble being...physical.  
  
It wasn't his first priority, anyway. Sex could wait, there were more urgent matters. In the weeks and months that followed his return, he focused on reacquainting himself with the person he used to be.   
It went as well as he could expected, really. His new-found agency led him to try all the foods that hadn't existed in his childhood. He had taken time to decide his own, more modern, sense of fashion. He managed to rebuild his friendship with Steve as well as could be expected. The man had been kind far beyond what could reasonably be expected, but then again, that was Steve. They even visited Peggy together once, while she had a lucid moment, and they all laughed and reminisced and he felt a warmth in his heart he hadn't felt for decades.  
  
On paper, his recovery was going extremely well. Well enough to even gain some of the Avengers' trust. Sure, it wasn't  _perfect_  , but no-one was surprised about the nightmares or the PTSD, and he was offered plenty of chances to talk about it, yet was given enough respect to be left alone if he asked for it. He had even agreed to counseling - and while he wasn't too thrilled about anyone trying to get into his head one way or another - he had to admit he even benefited from talking about some things.   
  
Even then, there were things he never talked about, not even in the safest of environments. Things that ate at his soul, but he couldn't bear to put in the words. As long as he could stop them from escaping his lips, the worst of the filth could be stopped from tainting his new life. As long as no-one new, there would be no more eyes that looked at him with that mixture of fear and pity - a look most people would never see in another human being's eyes, but one he had come to recognize and resent.   
There was the little girl he shot through the head, not because she was hit target, but because she was in his way and time to complete the mission was limited. His bullet had killed both her and the target in one shot. Or the time he briefly got a new handler who though it was funny to order him to chew off the ears of one of his victims and eat them raw. 'Psychological warfare', the man had called it, but Bucky suspected it had been more about him than about the victim: a new handler testing his limits, and Bucky had performed brilliantly. He had choked and gagged all the way through, but he had remained the obedient soldier. And then there where the times when he was used for other things than assassinations - the times where he'd let them put their hands on him,  _in him_ , and even the faintest hint of those memories made him want to curl up in a blanket until he willed his mind to think of something else. Puppies. Waves in the ocean. Fucking cardboard boxes.  _Anything_.  
  
Four months. That's about how long it took him to find the courage to go and buy a girlie mag. He had owned pictures of pin-ups before, but nothing like the stuff that was now available. He almost expected the old guy at the magazine store to give him a reprimanding look, but he just stated the price with a stoic face.  
  
He sort of decided to make it a boys' night, only he was be the only attendee. He bought some good Belgian beer. Ordered barbecue pizza. Listened to some old recordings of swing music he liked. He felt  _good_  both mentally and physically, and almost felt embarrassed of making such a big deal out of it. He made himself comfortable on his couch, with the magazine and some tissues, and tentatively unzipped his pants. His flesh-and-blood hand teased around his cock, and a slight whimper escaped his lips at the touch.   
  
Sure, he had touched himself there before after returning. But it had always been utilitarian, when he washed or dressed himself...but this, this was different. He had done this, back in Brooklyn, in what seemed another life now. Back when people still told you that you'd go blind from it. He had never believed them anyway.  
  
Right now, he felt like he deserved it. Like all his good progress entitled him to a little pleasure. His body craved touch - and even if it was his own, was that so bad? His cock grew heavier from his own ministrations, and as he wrapped his fingers around it he realized how much he had missed this, how much he craved release.  
  
The girls in the magazine were beautiful. He still wasn't quite used to the complete lack of pubic hair, but one adapts. He settled on the picture of a girl with seemingly flawless skin, ginger hair, and round, perky breasts with erect pink nipples. She looked at the camera provocatively, while her perfect teeth gently bit her bottom lip, that had gloss the same shade as her nipples.  
  
Bucky threw his head back and imagined kissing those lips, then moving downwards, past her neck, to take one nipple in his mouth. He stroked his cock while thinking of cupping her other breast with his hand. Thought of the little sounds of pleasure she would make as he did so. He clenched his fingers around his shaft, moving up and down with a firm grip, but didn't get more than half-hard. He doubled down on the fantasy, imagining lying on top of her, parting her legs and moving two fingers inside. In his mind, he could almost taste her lips as he thought of kissing them, feel the curve of her hips as he placed his hands on them, feel the tight wetness of her as he entered her...yet his dick remained mostly unresponsive. He let out a frustrated whimper. The fantasy was good. He wanted this. He  _needed_  this. So why wouldn't his damn body cooperate?  
  
He leafed through the magazine in frustration, finding another lovely girl -a brunette, this time - imagining her on all fours, sliding his hands down the inviting curve of he buttocks...but the results remained the same.  
  
He tried again...with another, and another - until he finally just flung the magazine across the room in frustration, went to bed, and reluctantly called it a night.

  
  
\---

  
  
A few weeks later, Steve actually tried to make subtle attempts to get him 'out there', which was ironic because it's not like he was the world's best authority on dating. Nevertheless, Bucky accepted the offer with with gratitude - not because he really wanted to do the dating thing, but because it reminded him of the old days, and he was happy to make new memories.  
  
It wasn't so bad at first, actually. Steve actually found a place that hosted a 'retro night' and it was quite lovely. All the girls were dressed in clothes he used to love, their hair in buns and rolls. He himself looked the part, too, and his well-dressed appearance got him more than one compliment. He wore long sleeves and gloves with the outfit, still not wanting to draw attention in that regard, but he certainly couldn't complain about the  _positive_  attention that he received. Sure, Steve got more attention than he did, nowadays, but there was still plenty left for him. It didn't hurt he could actually dance to the music they were playing, and he must have danced with at least a dozen girls that night. One of them, a pretty blonde in a blue polkadot dress, sporting a smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial, grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss when he tried to get to the bar. She tasted of wine and lipstick, and he liked how the kiss was both soft and firm, how her hands felt on him.  
  
"Want to have a good time, cutie?" she whispered, and he simply nodded, allowing himself to be drawn away from the crowd.   
  
His eyes looked for Steve, but he was keeping busy, looking like he was telling a funny story to four female admirers.  
  
The girl - Jennie, he seemed to remember - led him to a back room. The people here were still dressed in old-style clothing, but their demeanor was different. They were dancing to modern music. The rhythm was grinding. Bodies on the dance floor were moving against each other in ways he found mesmerizing. Then Jennie's lips were on his again, and he took her into his arms, returning her kisses with fervor. He hadn't really done this before - he had dated girls, of course, but none had been this forward on a first meeting. A part of his brain was saying this wasn't how it should go; it wasn't how he wanted it to go, but another, much larger part, craved her touch like he needed air. The room smelled of sweat and stale alcohol, and the music seemed to put him is some sort of trance. He kissed her again and didn't protest when she moved her hand south and her fingers teased his crotch.  
  
Not long after, he found himself locked in a stall in the ladies' room, pushed against the wall as the girl sat on the toilet lid and tugged at his pants. Her blonde hair still fell perfectly, but her red lipstick had worn off, and she had an expression of pure need on her face. It was unceremonious and a bit sleazy, and something he only imagined happening in made-up stories people sent to magazines - but he let it happen; wanted it to happen more than anything. When she took his cock into her mouth, he bit into his right hand just to stop himself from making sound. That first contact of her wet lips felt so good and he just wanted to get lost in this, but his damn body betrayed him. After a few minutes of ministrations of her mouth and hands, it became painfully apparent that his member was not cooperating. The girl looked at him questioningly, with blue eyes full of confusion.  
  
"It's not you," he managed, pathetically.  
  
He tucked himself back into his pants, his real hand shaking.  
  
She was kind to him - kinder than he'd expect from a girl who had wanted him for one-night-stand, which he had failed to deliver.  
  
"It's okay," she said, "it happens. Maybe a bit too much alcohol?"  
  
Bucky nodded gratefully, having been given an excuse. He knew it wasn't true, though. He barely drank, and while is metabolism didn't quite match Steve's, he burned through alcohol quite quickly.  
  
"I'm sorry. You're beautiful. I don't deserve you," he still managed, before making his embarrassed retreat.  
  
"Hey, are you okay?" he could hear her asking behind him, but he didn't even know how to reply to that.  
  
He fumbled his way out of the ladies' room, found Steve, and told him he felt sick and wanted to leave. Not that he actually thought Steve would believe that, but he was kind enough not to ask questions, kind enough to take him home, where he could curl up in bed and allow his eyes to get wet in the darkness, where nobody else would see.  
  
At this point he got the sinking feeling this might not be something he could fix. He wasn't about to give up quite yet, though.

 

\---

 

There was internet porn, of course. There was so  _much_  porn in this century that he almost couldn't believe it. When Steve had introduced him to the _usefulness_  of the internet, this was probably not what he had in mind. Though he'd like to think even the immaculate captain would take a peak on occasion.  
  
He thought maybe moving pictures would work better than just a magazine. There were literally hundreds of videos he saw. Different girls, different positions, different ages, different skintones, different shapes....some girls alone, some with guys, some with other girls...but through it all, his dick never got more than half-hard; he never found release.  
  
One night he was feeling particularly frustrated, and he started looking at categories he didn't usually venture in. He clicked on the video almost by accident, and when he saw what it was, he desperately wanted to click away, but he couldn't. He simply looked at it, both mesmerized and horrified. It was gay porn, and it featured a young man tied to the bed on his stomach. His hands and feet were attached to the bed with rope. Behind him, a burly man was stroking his enormous cock. On the other side, another man was swinging his own dick in front of the bound boy's face. Without warning, the burly man stopped stroking himself, grabbed the bottom's hips, and forced his dick inside his ass. This action brought a look of genuine pain on the bound man's face.  
  
"Daddy, no, it hurts," he whimpered.  
  
The man in front of him backhanded his face.  
  
"Shut up, you slut," he hissed, and shoved his cock into the mouth in front of him, deep, until his victim gagged and tears formed in his eyes.  
  
Bucky hit the pause button in horror, but it was already too late. The images he had seen had already left their impact. His own cock, that treacherous thing, was fully erect and pulsing against his stomach. He was shaking, and his body was overcome with both panic and arousal. The images in his head, those he'd been blocking for so many months, came flooding back and he could not stop them.  
  
_The voices echoed in the mostly empty, concrete cellar._  
  
_"Aren't you afraid he'll bite you?" one asked the other._  
  
_"No, he's well-trained and obedient... aren't you soldier?"_  
  
_The Soldier nodded and felt the man stroke his hair, then pull it back brutally, so he was now looking up at him. He recognized him. It was his handler. One of many he'd had over the years. The one who made him eat a man's ears. The one he had obeyed so perfectly before._  
  
_"Open," the handler demanded, and the Soldier obeyed again._  
  
_"No teeth, or you'll regret it."_  
  
_The Soldier held perfectly still as his handler forced himself down his throat. He willed himself not to move, and fought the urge to gag. He'd be obedient.He'd be good. He was created to follow the will of others, after all. His own feelings in the matter were of no importance._  
  
_"You can fuck his ass if you want," the handler hissed to the other man, the one the Soldier couldn't see. "It's a good ass," he elaborated as he violated the Soldier's throat, his words arousing him more, making his cock twitch inside. "He always heals up, you know. That serum is like magic. It's like fucking a virgin hole every time." He grabbed the back of the Soldier's head, forcing the full shaft in until the Soldier struggled for air. Tears started streaming down the Soldier's face, but he obediently took whatever was asked of him._  
  
_He felt his pants being pulled down, and moments later something wet trickled down his asshole. Spit, probably. Not nearly enough of it, but that was not his place to say. His asshole burned as it was entered without much preparation, and he cried out as much as he could with a cock stuffed in his mouth._  
  
_"There there," his handler said, almost mockingly, "show us what a good soldier you are."_  
  
_He kept his composure, staying the way they wanted him to, letting them take their pleasure. Every thrust inside him was painful. He could barely breathe. A small part of his brain was urging him to fight, telling him it was not supposed to be this way, but he willed those thoughts into silence. He had serviced men like this before, and he would do so again.He just wished he could just leave his body. Think of something else when they did this. Sometimes he could. Sometimes the pain could even help him, but not today._  
  
_The man behind him hit his prostate, and the pleasure of it was even worse than the pain. Seeing his reaction, the man laughed at him._  
  
_"You were right. He fucking likes it," he laughed._  
  
_The man wrapped his hand around the Soldier cock, and gave it a few good strokes. The Soldier's body...Bucky's body...betrayed him terribly as the man stroked him to orgasm during his violation._  
  
  
Bucky Barnes was shaking uncontrollably. He was sitting naked on the floor with his legs pulled up, next to his bed, not quite knowing how he got there. His eyes were wet and his breath uneven.   
  
His cock, despite everything, was still rock-hard.  
  
He thought he was going to be sick.  
  
So this was it, then. This was what he'd been reduced to. He wanted to lock himself in the shower for hours, scrub himself clean and bury the memory as deep as he could.   
  
He also needed to  _know,_  though. Know if this was really it.  
  
Driven mostly by desperation, he crawled on top of the bed, and laid on his back. He spread his legs open, still shaking.   
  
He stuck two of his fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva, trying to push away the thought of how exactly he must look right now.  
  
He almost dared not do it, but he had do.  
  
He placed both fingers at the tight, muscular ring of his ass.  
  
_"The slut doesn't need lube. He heals up anyway."_  
  
He pushed his fingers in and he tried to push away the the voices in his head.  
  
He whimpered. It burned. It hurt. And worst of all, he  _liked_  it.  
  
His body responded to the penetration. It was like muscle memory. I  _was_  muscle memory. His body craved this, even though he did not.  
  
He wrapped his metal hand around his hard penis, stroking himself as he fingerfucked his ass.  
  
"You're a disgusting whore, Barnes," he whispered to himself, and while it made him sick deep down to say it, it also brought him closer to pleasure.  
  
"Look at you,"he continued,"you love it up your ass. You need getting fucked. Just admit it."  
  
With that, his whole body spasmed as he brought himself to orgasm. Months of sexual frustration were explosively released. He came all over his own stomach, panting and shivering.  
  
The moment he came back to his senses, and the horniness subsided, he wanted nothing more than to undo what he had just done. He released his cock and pulled his fingers out of himself roughly, not quite believing what had actually just happened.  
  
His breathing was becoming more and more erratic, and he felt his bottom lip quiver.  
  
He wanted to scream: God please no, not this, not like this. But no sound escaped his mouth except for pitiful sobbing.  
  
He picked himself up, and wobbled to the bathroom on shaky legs.  
  
He ended up throwing up after all.  
  
He showered, scrubbing his skin until it was red, feverishly cleaning his now-limp dick until it stung and rubbing his asshole with soap until it burned again, but at least it was a  _clean_  sort of burning.  
  
Long after he had turned off the shower, he remained in the bathroom, huddled in towels, crying.  
  
That night, he slept on the couch, not daring to go near the bed where he had given himself release in such a pathetic way.

 


	2. It's Not My Party (But I'll Cry If I Want To)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha goes to a party. I doesn't quite turned out as planned. This chapter alludes to events in Age of Ultron, so if you're avoiding spoilers still, this is our warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains minor spoilers for Age of Ultron. 
> 
> Like all chapters in this story, it involves sexual themes and situations. This chapter mentions rape, but gives no graphic descriptions of it.

Natasha Romanoff woke up to the sound of raindrops on her window, 20 minutes before she had set her alarm. It was late afternoon already, but she had spent the morning sparring with Clint, and she had learned to take her sleep where she could get it. There were no alien invasions or other threats to humanity today, so it was a good day to relax. Sometimes a nap could work wonders. She uncuffed her hand from where it was attached to her bedpost. She didn't really sleep with the handcuff anymore, most of the time...but sometimes there seemed to be some twisted sense of comfort in it.  
  
It was a dreary day; it had been from the start. She didn't mind rain, though. Today, she even found the menacing clouds quite invigorating.  
  
She had been invited to one of Stark's party events, and while she had genuinely considered declining, she actually considered these opportunities to bond with her team important. Sometimes she even enjoyed it.  
  
The new girl would be there. The  _weird one_ , as Maria Hill described her, and Steve's back-from-the-dead-former-assassin friend. It was bound to be more awkward than usual, but she though it would be strategically interesting to find out what they were like in civilian environment. If all else failed, she could try to get them drunk and test out how well they responded to Russian jokes. Potentially not well, she thought, but then that too would be part of the learning process.  
  
She tried to block from her mind who would be absent. It didn't matter now, anyway. He had made his choice, and she'd been a fool to think she could engage in something resembling a normal human relationship anyway. She was good as a weapon. She was good at gathering intel. What she wasn't, in any case, was the kind of girl who married a doctor and settled down in a nice picket fence house with 2.4 children. Not that she really believed she wanted that...but still, she had enjoyed the fantasy of love. It was time to bury it deep now, though, and get rid of it along with other childish desires.  
  
She ran a bath - one of the luxuries she'd allow herself today. The foam smelled sort of floral, more girly than she'd associate with herself. The scent was inviting, nonetheless, and she curled up in hot water that felt almost like a warm blanket. She picked up a puff of foam and blew on it, and small bubbles dislodged and floated.   
  
This was probably not how the other Avengers imagined her, and she liked that. That she had a little part of herself that was her own. She lay back in the tub, allowing herself to relax, allowing her body to feel good. She stretched out like a cat, and even the parts of her that were hurting responded favorably. Her fingers found their way between her legs, almost absent-mindedly. She grinned and thought that this  _might_  be something  _some_  of the Avengers had imagined, but alas for them, this was all for herself.  
  
Her breathing grew heavier as she teased herself there, her fingers finding her clit and sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She didn't think of anyone in particular - in fact she specifically avoided that. She thought of bodies entwining. Of mouths meeting each other hungrily. Hips thrusting and hands grabbing...and she must have been more ready for this than she thought, because even just those vague flashes in front of her eyes made her excitement grow.  
  
She yanked her own hand away, her body disappointed at the sudden absence of pleasure as she reached for the shower head. She had picked this one out herself; she knew it would serve her well. As she turned on the water and let it spray on her palm, she knew the temperature and intensity were exactly right. She felt the current tease her thigh as she pushed the head underwater, then carefully positioned it the way she liked it. Heat and pressure flooded between her legs and the sensation made a content sigh escape her lips. She moved her free hand to one of her nipples - already erect - and started teasing herself there. She writhed against the stream that gave her pleasure and felt the water engulf her, bubbles sticking to her chin just under her mouth. The sensation was light and tickled, but fired up her touch-yearning skin, and she was almost tempted to lick at them despite the taste. Her own breath felt even hotter against her own lips than the damp coming from the bath. She bit her lip as the shower head worked its' magic, teasing her in just the right spot, until it finally carried her to orgasm. The intensity of it almost made her go under, and she had to brace herself against the tub, panting.  
  
It had taken her a while before she was able to get to this point: doing this with confidence. As a young Widow, during her training, privacy had been an issue. Later, her sexuality has been more of a tool - a weapon, even - to entice men whose brains went south when they saw a pretty girl. She could entice, manipulate, extract information and even kill, all with a charming smile on her lips - and her target wouldn't even realize until it was too late.  
  
Giving herself pleasure was far removed from that world, that life, and maybe that's why it gave her so much satisfaction, more than could be explained by the physical act alone. This was all hers and nobody else's.  
  
After she finished bathing, she started getting herself ready. She opted for a knee-length all-black empire waist dress. The back had a lace pattern with rose-like flowers, that went down in a V-shape and ended up in a bow at the waistline. It was simple, but she liked the way it made her look: hot, but not to be messed with. She styled her hair so it would flow to her shoulders in waves, and finished of her make-up with bright red lipstick. Her last addition were heels that made her legs look even longer, and looked like they could trample the hearts of men - possibly literally.  
  
Yeah, she liked herself today.   
  
She could take anything the party would throw at her.

 

\---

 

An hour later she was sitting on a bar stool, sipping her cosmopolitan cocktail and overseeing the room. She hadn't been very sociable today, but her position gave her a prime position to observe the room.  
  
The party was not entirely private. Stark had invited some investors and was entertaining them. The presence of some of the Avengers has probably sweetened the deal, or even been part of it. While he seemed very cheerful on the outside, the little lines around his mouth made her conclude he was growing more and more annoyed with these people, but he hadn't come up with an elegant way to ditch them...yet.   
  
Pepper Potts was sitting at a table with Maria Hill, and whatever they were talking about, it made them genuinely laugh every few minutes, and sometimes one of them leaned in to whisper into the other one's ear, followed by more laughter.  
  
Thor and Jane were one of the few people dancing, looking into each other's eyes longingly, currently blissfully unaware of the world around them. Natasha couldn't help but smile. Despite their obvious differences, they seemed so genuinely  _in love_  and it was lovely to see.   
  
Near to what served as a ballroom, a small boys' club had formed. Steve was sitting there with Barnes next to him, talking to Sam and Clint. The conversation seemed to be amicable, at least. She couldn't really read the newcomer, though. Barnes' looked tired; his eyes betrayed him. She saw him making attempts at reciprocation in the conversation, even laughing at jokes - but all of it was slightly... _off_. His reactions always came a split second too late - like it was something he had practiced, or was scared to be reprimanded for. He held his left hand in his pocket, while the right one played with his drink somewhat nervously.  
  
She was pulled away from her observations by laughter over at the other side of the room, where an unusual duo had formed: Rhodey and Wanda Maximoff, both somewhat inebriated, were seemingly having the time of their life. She actually listened to his stories with interest, and laughed at his punch lines - while he looked on with genuine wonder when she used her powers for party tricks, the last of them being manipulating a pink balloon to reshape into a floating cube.  
  
The girl was perceptive, and soon noticed Nat's eyes on her. She excused herself to Rhodey, who promptly found another victim to tell his stories to - this time it was Darcy, Jane's assistant.  
  
Wanda walked over to her, smiling and holding up her hands, possibly as a sign of not meaning harm.  
  
"Natasha, what are you doing here all alone? We have to show these American boys we know how to party!"  
  
Her smile was genuine, and inviting. She hooked her arm in Nat's, guiding her into the room.  
  
"Come, you are not the type to be a wallflower!"  
  
That made Nat smile in return.  
  
Though as they stood closer, and their voices were drowned out by the party, Wanda's demeanor changed, despite the alcohol.  
  
"You are all right, yes, Natasha? If not...well, sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger? No obligations. I just wanted you to know you could."  
  
It genuinely surprised her. She had only really talked to the girl on a few occasions, and most of those times involved combat strategy. But she seemed thoughtful for her age, and kinder that her history would suggest.  
  
"You too, Wanda. Should you need to."  
  
"I might take you up on the offer. But not today. I think today is a good day."  
  
"Hey Nat," another, familiar voice sounded. Steve was waving at her from his table, beckoning him to his table.   
  
"Go," Wanda said as she gently shoved her a step closer,"be with your friends."  
  
"You could join us, too."  
  
Wanda shook her head. "No, the Captain's friend - what's his name, Bucky? - he's uncomfortable around me. It's the mind control thing. I don't want to push it. Go. Have fun. I'm fine."  
  
Natasha turned to Steve's table, and could still hear Wanda murmur: "Who calls their child Bucky? Do Americans hate their children?"  
  
It brought a grin to her face. She decided she might like the Maximoff girl.  
  
When sitting down, Natasha specifically chose a spot next to Barnes, as she wanted to get a feel for the guy. She greeted him, and he gave her a nod. They had talked before briefly, which had mostly involved him apologizing for shooting her - extensively and awkwardly. Despite his unmistakable tiredness, he did clean up nice. He still wore his hair longer, but it was less messy now. When he spoke, he was actually charming. His smile, while used sparingly, was positively disarming.  
  
The rest of them brought up old Avengers stories. It served a double purpose, really. On one hand it made him feel like they trusted him enough to treat him like one of them. On the other hand it was an indirect way to bring him up to speed. As time passed, she got the feeling that he did actually realize that, but played along, appreciating what they were doing for him. Every now and then Rogers would throw her a knowing look, thanking her silently for involving his friend in normal conversation and treating him like a regular human being.   
  
She noticed that despite having a version of the super serum, Barnes' didn't quite metabolize alcohol as fast as Rogers. As the evening progressed, and he consumed an impressive amount of vodka, he was becoming progressively more tipsy. His defenses weakened, and his reactions became more natural and less calculated. She decided to test the waters.  
  
"So guys," she said charmingly, "do you know how every good Russian joke starts?"  
  
She looked around the table, and saw some worried faces there. Barnes himself looked like he was bracing for a punch.  
  
"By looking over your shoulder," she said casually, and sipped her drink.  
  
It was Barnes who laughed first, and it was bittersweet, but the fact he laughed put the others more at ease.  
  
Good, she thought, that opened up some options.  
  
"So Sergeant," she said, "you're a charming man. Any luck with the ladies in the 21st century yet?"  
  
Barnes seemed to be taken back by that, and shook his head shyly.  
  
"I swear she asks that to  _everyone_ , Buck, " Steve informed him, laughing.  
  
Barnes' face seemed to be in deep contrast with Steve's cheerfulness now. There was something going on there.  
  
"I could set you up," she continued, "have you met Nicole, she does accounting for Stark?"  
  
Barnes bowed his head and shook it again.  
  
"Or Ana Sofia? She works in Helen Cho's lab?"  
  
"I'm really not interested in that."  
  
"Or if you prefer guys, it's a brand new millennium - there's Mike from -"  
  
"Goddammit, Romanoff, I said  _no_!" He practically spat at her, his body language switching completely in a mere second.  
  
He got up and stormed out.  
  
Steve looked a bit baffled: "Sorry Nat, I'll go see what's up."  
  
"No, Steve. I made the mess. I'll go clean it up. Hang on."

  
  
\---

  
  
She found him leaning against the wall in the hallway that lead to the restrooms, taking deep breaths. He gritted his teeth when he saw her.  
  
"You really don't know when to take a hint, do you?"  
  
"Look, I'm sorry I apparently said something to offend you, but -"  
  
"Hasn't anyone ever told you apologies shouldn't come with a' _but_ '?  
  
She took a deep breath.  
  
"Look, really, it's just that gay sex is more accepted now and it can come across as a little homophobic to -"  
  
"Oh for  _fuck's sake_ , Romanoff. You want to educate me on  _modern times_? Now? Really? Trust me, there was just as much buggery in my day as there is in yours, people just shut up about it more. And I don't hate or fear gay people, for the record, I just don't particularly want a cock up my ass."  
  
He spoke with such intensity, and such pain in his eyes, that the picture painted before her became crystal clear.  
  
She felt her own face drop.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.  
  
He looked at her with panic now, with eyes she remembered seeing looking over a mask once, bewildered and hurt.   
  
"Oh no no, don't you dare say it, don't you dare -"  
  
"They raped you," she said flatly. It was a statement, not a question, and she could tell from the way his face turned pale that she was right.  
  
She reached for him, but he flinched like he expected her to hurt him.  
  
"Are you talking to someone about it?" she asked, with determination.  
  
She saw him move his hand over his mouth and shake his head.  
  
"Are you insane?" he finally managed. "I have no illusion about privacy with a S.H.I.E.L.D. head shrinker. They'd tell Fury, I'm sure. Steve, too."  
  
"You mean he doesn't know?"   
  
The panic in his eyes grew even more now, and this time it was him who reached for her, grabbing her firmly by her shoulders.  
  
"He can never know, do you understand that?  _No one_  can know. Everyone already looks at me like I'm a mistreated dog they rescued from a shelter. If they knew this...promise me, Romanoff,  _promise me_."  
  
She could see something glistening in his eyes, and she could feel his right hand shaking on her shoulder.  
  
She softened both inside and out. It seemed almost wrong to see him this way, this man who could snap anyone's neck in a heartbeat. She had seen men vulnerable before. She had  _made_  men vulnerable before. But this intrusion was uninvited, and it made her feel like she was just adding to his violation. The thought made her shiver and feel a bit dirty.  
  
"I promise."  
  
That seemed to calm him down a little.   
  
She reached into her purse, and handed him a small card.  
  
"Look...this is my private number. If you ever need to talk. Everyone knows I'm good at keeping secrets."  
  
At the other side of the hallway, Steve's voice sounded. "It everything okay there?"  
  
"Yes," they replied in perfect unison.  
  
Barnes moved away from her and turned to Steve. "But...I think I've had enough of people for today. Makes me on edge. It's best if I go home."  
  
"Sure, Buck," Steve said warmly, "C'mon, I'll bring you."  
  
As they were leaving, Bucky turned around once more, his lips mouthing 'you promised' without sound.  
  
She nodded to him in return and actually made a gesture over her chest as if she was crossing her heart.  
  
As he walked out the door, she couldn't help but notice he tucked her card safely in his pocket.  
  
It made her feel a little better, at least.


	3. Sex and the 21st Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tries for another one-night stand, and gets rewarded with flashbacks. See notes for warnings.

She felt hot beneath him, her lips nipping eagerly at his, her fingers buried in his hair.   
  
This wasn't exactly the way he liked to treat a gal, but desperate times called for desperate measures.   
  
She looked older in person than in the picture on her profile. If he'd have to guess he'd say she lied about her age by at least five years. He didn't care. She was pretty and she was kind, and most of all she was willing to give him some human contact without asking a lot of questions. She told him her name was Desiree. That too was a lie, he'd wager. It did not matter. She could have have told him her name was Kris Kringle, for all the difference it would have made.  
  
He had told her he was ex-military, if only to explain the prosthetic, and she had acknowledged that with a silent nod and took to calling him "Soldier", which sounded jarring in his ears, but he could not bring himself to correct her.  
  
Being in her arms gave him hope and a sense of normalcy. He wanted to get lost in a sea of auburn curls and trace miles of freckled skin with his mouth. She giggled as his lips tickled the skin beneath her navel. As he moved lower, he could smell the muskiness of her, enticing and intoxicating.  
  
He briefly remembered having the talk with Sam: sex and the 21st century. Things were easier now, he knew. More open. Less taboo.  
  
He buried his face in her crotch, feeling a brief tinge of happiness, allowing his racing mind to slow its pacing.  
  
If he could just have this: a few precious moments with a stranger, then all would be right again. If he could make it work, he could pretend it didn't happen; or classify those memories as distant past in any case, locked away in a cardboard box in his mind that would only gather dust and cobwebs.  
  
He teased her clit with his tongue, surprised at his own ease with doing so. His reward was the whimper coming from her lips and the slight shiver of her soft flesh, willing underneath his touch. Her fingers grabbed on to his hair tighter and she pulled him up with a force he didn't expect from her.  
  
"Come back to me, Soldier, you're so far away," she purred. And then her lips were on his mouth, her legs around his waist, and her nails digging into his back. It felt like all the things he was supposed to like, but once again his body only met her efforts with indifference. He grinded his crotch against hers, and he could tell that even the indirect stimulation gave her pleasure, but his cock remained stubbornly flaccid. He ground against her, frustrated, his body craving release while not giving him the means to achieve it.  
  
The last thing he remembered hearing was: "C'mon, Soldier, I know you want me." And then, he was no longer in the room. He didn't quite know where or  _when_ , but he remembered a humid tundra in late spring, shortly before sunset.  
  
_"I know you want this."_  
  
_The man standing above him had a thick accent as he spoke. He was fully dressed in a dirty, muddied uniform - except for his cock, flaccid but large, hanging out of his pants._  
  
_"It understands Russian, Alexei. You don't have to give it orders in English."_  
  
_Another man - equally in uniform - was sitting next to a small tent, trying to heat canned beans on a self-made campfire. He seemed rather uninterested in the little scene before him, but he made no move to stop it._  
  
_"But it's much more fun this way," Alexei continued with the thick accent, " he sounds almost like a real American boy...don't you, Soldier?"_  
  
_The Soldier simply sat quietly on his knees in front of him, eyes transfixed on the penis that was roughly at eye level._  
  
_Alexei's hand came down hard on his face, hard enough to draw blood from his lip._  
  
_"I asked you a question, you will answer it."_  
  
_"Yes, Sir, I sound like an American boy," he replied, deliberately letting his Brooklyn accent permeate his words, even though he didn't know where he had picked that up._  
  
_Another slap came to the other side of his face, this one harder._  
  
_"That is not the question I meant."_  
  
_The Soldier swallowed. "No, Sir."_  
  
_Alexei grabbed him by the throat, almost crushing his windpipe in anger. The flaccid cock twinged at the violence, becoming half-erect._  
  
_"What did you say?"_  
  
_The Soldier had trouble breathing, and gasped for air pathetically._  
  
_"No Sir, I do not want it." he still managed to squeeze out, barely audible._  
  
_Alexei laughed loudly, disgustingly. He released the Soldier's throat but pressed his boot against his crotch._  
  
_"Really now, Soldier? Tell me, if you do no not want my cock, why are you hard?"_  
  
_The pressure of Alexei's boot against his member sent a jolt of pain through him. The Soldier swallowed, fighting back tears. Alexei was right. He was hard. He did not have an explanation for it. Perhaps Alexei was right. Perhaps he did want it, but just did not want to admit it to himself. He remained silent, bowing his head._  
  
_"That's what I thought," Alexei grinned. "Now beg for it."_  
  
_When he did not react, Alexei kicked his gut._  
  
_When he finally did speak, his words sounded small and scared. "Please, Sir, may I have your cock?"_  
  
_"What's that? I didn't hear you."_  
  
_"Please, Sir, may I have you cock? I need it." His voice was louder now, but the fear was still audible._  
  
_Alexei pressed his dick against the Soldier's bloodied lips. He took it in his mouth, with reluctance deliberately disguised as eagerness. His nostrils flared at the sickening scent of sweat and urine. He wanted to pull away, but he knew that would only worsen his predicament. Involuntarily, he gagged._  
  
_He felt Alexei's heel dig into his crotch, making him cry out as much as the penis in his mouth allowed._  
  
_"It that how you treat my gift?"_  
  
_Alexei grabbed the back of the Soldier's head with one hand, and squeezed his jaw with the other, allowing his penis to enter deeper. The intrusion restricted the Soldier's air supply, making him struggle for air, his hands starting to move to push his abuser away, but stopping before he actually touched him._  
  
_"We're going to have so much fun together, Soldier," Alexei grunted as he fucked his throat, "I will help you get rid of that pesky gag reflex. The process will be hard, but you will be grateful in the end."_  
  
_With only a few more thrusts, he came in the Soldier's mouth. It made him gag again, but Alexei held his head in place until he had ridden out his orgasm, forcing his cum down the Soldier's throat. Blood, semen and saliva trickled from his mouth as Alexei withdrew from him._  
  
_He pushed the Soldier away, tucking himself into his pants. He turned to the other man._  
  
_"Give me some of those beans, Sergei. I'm hungry. The Asset won't need any. He already ate."_  
  
_He laughed again, stroking the Soldier's cheek with false affection._  
  
_"If you're a good boy, I'll feed you again soon. But only if you ask nicely."_  
  
Bucky felt something wet splash on his face, and his first reflex was to reach and check if it was cum or blood. It was neither. As far as he could tell it was water. And he was no longer on a grass plain, but he was curled up against a wall next to a cupboard in a room with flowery wallpaper.  
  
Gazing at him was Desiree. She had a completely bewildered look on her face. Somewhere between now and him last being aware of her, she had wrapped a sheet around herself to compensate for her state of undress. She was holding an empy glass in her hand...one she had probably splashed some water in his face with.  
  
"Are you okay?" she finally asked when he acknowledged her presence with his eyes.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"You were gone," she said, still visibly upset.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"No, that's not what I meant...do you have like PTSD?"  
  
Bucky sighed. "I guess...I guess I do." And he knew that wasn't even really a lie.  
  
He wanted to get up and leave as fast as he could, but realized to his horror that he was erect. He didn't know if it was the memory, or the humiliation of her finding him curled up naked like that, but whatever terrible things his dick had been programmed to react to...it was reacting.  
  
He wanted to cry. He wanted the earth to swallow him whole right then and there.  
  
Instead, he asked her for a soda. Anything to get her out of the room.  
  
It seemed she took the excuse to create distance between them as eagerly as he did, because she darted out of the room in a heartbeat.  
  
He gathered the clothes he'd left discarded on the floor haphazardly not even so long ago, and tried to get them back on with trembling hands. Even when they were finally on, they felt wrong - like someone else clothes. He guessed that's what the were, in a way. His compromise to dress like a 21th century man that was neither the Winter Soldier nor Bucky Barnes.  
  
She came back into the room too soon to his liking, but at least getting dressed had made his raging erection subside. He took the Coke she offered him, despite not really wanting it. He wished he hadn't looked her in the eye. There were so many things there he did not wish to see.  
  
There was only awkwardness between them now, accentuated even more by the forced kiss-on-the-cheek she gave him as he left.   
  
"You take care," he could hear hear say as he left.  
  
He didn't know if it was heartfelt. Some part of him hoped he wasn't. It was just that little extra worse if they were genuinely nice.  
  
It did not matter, though, in the end. They both knew they'd never see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual dysfunction, m/m oral rape and victim blaming.


	4. Filthy Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky remembers Rumlow. It's not pleasant.

It took a few weeks before Bucky would even think of sex again, but the tyranny of his own body screaming for release lead him to new attempts of self-degradation.

The box arrived on a Wednesday evening, discreet and unremarkable as promised. The contents were a large, veiny flesh-colored dildo with a suction cup and a small bottle of lube.

Bucky put the box under his bed at first, unused but ominous.

He thought it would remain there much longer, but fate would decide otherwise.

Lately he had regained some of the Avengers' trust. Enough of it to be taken on missions. This one was simple enough. A terrorist organization had built five exoskeleton suits that made their wearers super-strong and virtually unstoppable. Not taking into account super-soldiers, of course.

The fight had been surprisingly physical, flesh punching metal and metal punching flesh, and there had been something incredibly satisfying about both hitting and getting hit he couldn't quite express in words.

Steve didn't notice it in battle - sometimes Bucky thought that to him the fighting was a sort of therapy. 

Natasha did, though, and after the battle was fought she came up to him, touched gently at the corner of his mouth where he was swollen and bleeding from a particularly viscous punch and asked if he was okay.

His first thought was to slap her hand away and tell her to mind her own business, but there was a genuineness in her eyes he did not see there often. He leaned his face gently into her touch and nodded against her hand. As she drew away he gave her the best smile his battered face would allow.

"Yeah, feels good to be out here again."

It was only half a lie but it felt wrong when compared to her sincerity.

\---

He wasn't too thrilled about the mandatory physical after the missions. It reminded him too much of...other things. But there was no way he'd ever admit it. Acting strange about it would only make the other Avengers more suspicious. They might even consider him unfit to fight. Or do anything else, really. He couldn't allow that.

So he gritted his teeth and allowed Dr. Cho to examine him. Lying on the bed with an exposed torso gave him unpleasant associations, but he was proud of himself for bearing it so well.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to have your tissue regenerated?" she asked kindly.

He shook his head. "Nah, Doc, my body mostly does that on its own and that machine makes me claustrophobic."

He knew that would do it. That would get her off his back. None of them dared to put him through anything that would even vaguely remind him of the brainwashing device, and none of them dared to speak of it. The truth was, the post-battle ache of his body was oddly comforting, but that wasn't a truth he was eager to share.

"I'll have to disinfect this," Helen Cho's voice told him as he was lost in thought, and he just nodded absent-mindedly. It didn't surprise him. He had a gash on his right side that was smeared with a motor oil-like substance and would worry any normal sort of person.

He was prepared for the sting of the disinfectant. What he wasn't quite prepared for was the reaction of his own body.

He wondered if it was just that particular pain, or the medical setting - because it sure as hell hadn't happened in battle - but the sharp pain made his nipples instantly hard and sent a jolt of pleasure to his crotch. He wasn't quite sure, but he though his arousal might be visible so he clumsily tugged on the bed's blanket and pulled it over his lower half.

"Chilly?" He heard Dr. Cho ask.

"Yeah. For someone they called Winter Soldier I'm actually not that fond of the cold," he joked. Maybe that would distract from it. And explain the nipples. Dr. Cho seemed more focused on her work than anything else anyway. She applied a local anesthetic and sutured the wound. All through the process Bucky remained acutely aware of his cock that - unlike himself - seemed to be having one hell of a good time.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Helen Cho's care and examination ended, and he was free to retreat to his own place.

 

\---

He looked at himself in his full-length mirror as he stood in the bathroom naked. There were bruises and cuts on his face and body. If someone wouldn't know the context - the context of him being on a superhero team - he would look to them as a victim. He looked like someone who had been hurt, beaten, abused... _raped_ , his mind filled in.

While some of his abusers had taken pride in his compliance, some would get off on having to beat him into submission. Some would beat him even if he obeyed, simply because they liked it.

While the mere thought of it filled him with disgust, it also made his cock react. 

He leaned over the sink, looking intently at the swollen corner of his mouth and the bruise under his eye in the mirror. He looked tired, so tired. His eyes were red as if he were about to cry. Maybe he was. But he also looked so very  _fuckable_.

While locking eyes with himself, he spat at the mirror: "You should be ashamed of yourself. Look at yourself. You're a mess. You like taking punches. Almost as much as taking cock."

Sure enough, he felt the effects in his crotch. Just those few little words of self-hatred caused his erection to be full, pressing against his belly with need. Looking at the face in the mirror, he saw wetness form around his eyes. He knew what he'd have to do. He knew how it was going to be from now on. He better just accept it.

Shaking but determined, he flung a chair from the other room in the middle of the bathroom. He went to pull the box from under the bed and pulled out the dildo and the lube gracelessly, discarding the box on the floor.

He attached the dildo to the middle of the chair with its suction cup, an sure enough, it kept standing upright like the online description had promised. It was large and veiny, and looked like an ugly cock. He had chosen if for exactly that reason. He didn't want any of the cutesy sex toys in frivolous colors or shaped like caterpillars or whatever the hell the were making these days.

This dildo wasn't cute or funny. It was to be used to violate him in his most private of places. Bucky looked at it with so much anger and disgust, that he genuinely had to wonder if anyone had ever hated a sex toy so much before. But his hate was irrelevant. His body needed things that he had no control over, and this mockery of sex would provide him with it.

He carefully lubed the thick shaft - not too much, because he knew he needed it to hurt.

When he was done with that, he positioned the chair right in front of the mirror, so he would see his own violation, knowing that seeing it would arouse him more.

He positioned himself above the dildo, legs spread like he wanted it. There would be no foreplay, no loosening himself up with fingers - it wasn't like he'd ever been given that courtesy when someone really decided to fuck him.

Lowering himself, he could feel the head of the dildo push at his entrance, and even just the anticipation made his cock twist.

"You better just accept it, slut, this is what your hole is for."

As he whispered those words, he pushed himself down, and the sting of first penetration made him cry out in pain.

He looked at himself in he mirror as he moved to let the shaft sink into his hole inch by inch. His face was filled with pain, disgust and pleasure...and he observed all of it in the mirror, letting it hit home what a disgusting creature he had become. He wrapped his hand around his cock as he moved up and down, focusing on the pain and humiliation he was feeling.

When he finally closed his eyes, he searched his brain for a memory. One of the ones he usually kept at bay, but he deserved to hurt now...and he pathetically wanted it.

_The figure of Brock Rumlow crystallized before his mind's eye. He was sitting in the van in full tactical gear, his legs spread open. The Soldier was on his knees between them, awaiting orders._

_Rumlow barely acknowledged his presence, and was using one of his large knives to cut something that resembled a fruit or a vegetable into something resembling a butt plug. The Soldier knew what a butt plug was because one of the lab technicians seemed rather fond of them._

_"Do you know what figging is?" he asked, not even acknowledging the Soldier with his eyes, but keeping them on the object in his hand._

_The Soldier shook his head._

_"Back in the old days," Rumlow mused, they used to put ginger roots into a horse's anus to make it look more lively. The sting of it made them alert, you see. That way you could pretend an old horse was younger if you wanted to sell it, or if you wanted to show off when riding one into battle.Tell me Soldier, do you think it would work on you?"_

_"I...I don't know, Sir," he stammered his shaking reply._

_"Well, let's find out then. Get on all fours."_

_Rumlow saw him hesitate he added "Now! That's an order."_

_The Soldier complied, and felt his pants being tugged down. Rumlow spread his cheeks and shoved the ginger root into his hole with one brutal thrust. The Soldier cried out - first at the force of it, then surprised and horrified by the sting of the actual root. Every fiber of his being screamed for it to be removed from his body, but Rumlow pulled his pants back up._

_"Get up," he hissed._

_The Soldier complied as fast as he could, trying to ignore the object inserted into his anus. It burned terribly, distractingly, and it made his legs buckle ever-so slightly. But he obeyed the order. His discomfort was irrelevant, only the mission was important._

_Rumlow shoved a weapon into his hands._

_"Look alive, Soldier. Let's see if this makes you kill you target faster."_

For the first time, Bucky seemed sort of in control of the memory. He didn't phase out; he knew where he was. He was still in the middle of the bathroom, riding that dildo, and he felt that these memories, awful as they were, would help him reach orgasm.

He knew what would come next in the memory. He would be given a gun, and be dropped outside of the US Embassy in Vienna and shoot someone called Richard Perkins, an older well-dressed man carrying a briefcase. To this day he did not know why the man needed to die, but he had completed his mission swiftly and without question.

This was the part of the memory that he just skipped over briefly. The killing in itself did not arouse him. Thank God for small mercies, he thought. No, it was what came after that he needed to tap into.

_When the Soldier returned, Brock Rumlow was already waiting for him. He still had his legs open, but now a bulge was showing, and he was looking at his watch and laughing._

_"Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Who would have thought? It really does work. I will need to do that more often, don't you think, Soldier? I mean, if it makes you better at your job, it's worth it, right?"_

_"Yes, Sir.Thank you for making me a better soldier, Sir." The Soldier's words were hesitant. He dreaded the prospect of a burn-inducing object being shoved up his ass before every mission, but in the end he did not get to decide, and dared not refuse._

_Rumlow gave him the fakest of warm smiles. "C'mere."_

_For a moment the Soldier contemplated that he could kill Rumlow on the spot. He was still armed, after all. But he had learned resistance was futile. He put down his main weapon and approached Rumlow._

_"Turn around," the next order sounded._

_The Soldier obeyed and felt Rumlow hands on his belt almost immediately, and before he could even react one way or another, his pants were being pulled down._

_He heard the sound of a condom wrapper being torn. Normally, Rumlow enjoyed dumping his load inside him, but he was smart enough not the get ginger juice on his dick._

_The Soldier winced as the makeshift plug was pulled out, and immediately replaced by Rumlow's cock. Rumlow was large, and on most occasions the Soldier struggled to take him - but now, with his ass still on fire it felt almost like release, and he grinded himself backwards into Rumlows lap, each stroke making the burn a little less, making it a bit more bearable. Needy, pathetic noises escaped his mouth as he was bounced up and down on Rumlow's hard member, acutely aware of each thrust, of each ragged breath Rumlow breathed against his back. Then the breath turned into a coarse laugh. Rumlow's hand reached for his nipple and pinched it painfully, and more noises escaped his lips._

_Rumlow grunted behind him, forcing out words between thrusts. "I didn't believe them...when they told me ...their prized weapon... was a cockslut...but look at you."_

_The Soldier felt his hair being grabbed roughly and his head being guided. Rumlow made him look at one of the windows. They were blacked out, but still had a faint reflection on the inside. He could see a ghost image of his face, flushed and sweaty. He could see the evidence of what he truly was. The evidence of his own betrayal._

This was the core of his humiliation: his own need. In his bathroom, Bucky Barnes looked at his reflection. Tears were streaming down his face properly now, and his lips were red and quivering. But he was flushed,too, and sweaty. He was making whimpering noises as he impaled himself over and over. He was just as pathetic now as he had been then. There was no denying what he was.

"Make no mistake, Barnes, you're Hydra's whore now. You're Hydra's whore forever," he told himself.

_Brock Rumlow made him cum with a few hard strokes and the orgasm flushed his body like a tidal wave. Only then, with physical arousal gone, he realized the utter horror of his situation and tried to pull away. Rumlow's rough hands pulled him back on his cock with enough force to bruise his hips._

_"No, please," he moaned, but that only got him a slap on his buttocks._

_"Now now, Soldier, don't be selfish." Rumlow hissed as he entered him forcefully again._

_Every entry into his body after that was torture, and he wanted nothing more than to expel Rumlow's cock. But it was not his choice. Every thrust was a new, terrible violation, and now that Rumlow knew his discomfort he was deliberately drawing it out, thrusting slow and deep, using his cock as a precision weapon. After what felt like hours, but was maybe fifteen minutes in reality,Rumlow grew tired of the game and started fucking him violently, animalistically, until the Soldier's face was covered with the saltiness of sweat and tears, and his ass felt like it was being chafed by sandpaper. Only then did Rumlow finally cum._

Bucky Barnes came violently into his own hand, and regretted it instantly. The dildo felt wrong inside him, and he pulled himself off immediately. The movement made a loud, obscene squelch. He stood up shakily, lowering his gaze from the mirror, unable to look at himself. He covered his already-soft cock with his hand, as if attempting a pathetic display of faux chastity, but that only made him feel worse.

Rumlow had made him turn around, and poured the cum from the condom into his mouth. He made a sour face just thinking about it. The time for memories was now over. They needed to be tucked back into the back of his brain and safely contained. They could serve no purpose now but to harm him.

Bucky felt exposed in the harsh artificial light of the bathroom, and he cleaned his crotch with a washcloth best as he could. Then he turned to his toy, still prominent in the room, a testament to his own depravity. Some of his own cum had ended up on the floor, and he cleaned it with disgust. As he started to clean the actual toy, he noticed a little blood. He frowned. Not that it mattered much, he'd heal, but that meant he'd probably be aware of having been penetrated for longer.

Not until he had neatly put the toy back into its box and hid it under the bed, did he turn to the task he dreaded the most: cleaning up his own ass. He wiped it unceremoniously with toilet paper, feeling the slickness of lube between his own buttocks. The feeling almost made him heave. Right now it stood evidence to every cock that had ever entered him. Every cock he didn't fight and allowed to enter. Every cock that had brought his body to orgasm, even if he did not want it to.

Sure enough, he found a little blood on the paper, but nothing he was worried about. 

_Good_ , he even thought. He deserved to bleed for being so utterly controlled by his own sick desires. What did he expect from acting out this filth, sunshine and butterflies? No, this was as it should be. He was dirty and bloody. He tossed the paper in the toilet, and flushed it, making it go away.

After that he showered. It relieved some of his tension, but didn't really make him feel clean.

Even when he finally went to bed, he couldn't sleep for hours. He was distracted by his own panicked heartbeat and by how fucked open his ass still felt. When sleep finally came, he dreamed of Rumlow's filthy hands on his skin.


	5. The Nature of Need

It was the same cycle over and over again. Every time he found release - shaken and guilt-stricken - the thought of ever having sex again disgusted him. But as time passed, sexual frustration rose and arousal went without release until something inside him broke. Needy and touch-starved, he would eventually submit himself to pain and humiliation at his own hands for the meager reward of a guilty orgasm.  
  
The worst part was that even like this it grew increasingly hard to get off. A memory, an insult to himself, a sexual act...they could only be repeated so often before they started to lose effect. Soon he was masturbating with clothespins on his nipples or a belt tied too-tightly around his leg, the sharp buckle digging into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.   
  
The memories were trickier. There was still so much he didn't remember, and every day there were new shards of remembered events entering his mind, and he struggled to find context with mixed results. It was hit or miss: some memories he could keep control over, using them as tools for his sexual fantasies. Others would just catch him by surprise, leaving him feeling sick and empty-hearted. Others still would leave him sobbing quietly. They caused neither arousal, guilt, nor anger...just a vast pool of sadness that started in his chest and seemed to flow through all of his being until it poured out in the form of tears.  
  
It had been almost 9 months now that he had freed himself of Hydra, and he had expected for it to be much better by now, but frankly it was only getting worse.  
  
He hated it, all of it. He didn't want to feel arousal at the memory of his own abuse. He didn't want to see the faces of those he had killed, their eyes dead and hollow. He didn't want to be a weepy, sad shadow of the charming man he once was. Yet, none of this was something he could change.  
  
People noticed he wasn't doing as well at they had hoped he would - whatever it was they had hoped for, anyway - and when Steve invited him for coffee that morning he knew it was to subtly check up on him. Except there was nothing subtle about Steve Rogers. The whole asking him for coffee was actually quite silly and obvious as the man had insisted they'd have apartments next to each other. There was no  _need_  to ask him out for coffee. He could just knock on his door. But Bucky knew he meant well. Which is why he was sitting in a coffee shop at 9 A.M., squinting at sunlight that made his eyes sting. He was sleep deprived and pale, and he was sure Steve had noticed the wrinkles under his eyes. His hair was messy, his hoodie too large, and he did his best to hide himself from the world as much as he could. He felt uncomfortable in his own body. His ass still felt fucked-open from the fruitless self-abuse he had put himself trough the night before.   
  
Steve Rogers, on the other hand, looked wholesome as ever. Bucky was sure he had gone running with Sam at some ungodly hour, but he looked fresh as a daisy. He wore a cap to obscure his face from too-curious bystanders, but other than that he was all Captain America even in civilian clothes. Bucky felt horribly inadequate next to him. He sipped his coffee but it tasted of disappointment.  
  
"Bucky, are you okay?" Steve Finally asked, his baby blues looking at him like they were trying to read a book in a foreign language. "A few of us...well, we've noticed you seem worse than, well, before."  
  
Bucky took a deep breath and cast his eyes downwards, unable to meet Steve's gaze. He thought of how to formulate this neutrally.  
  
"I've been remembering things. Bad things. Which I guess is good because it means the brain damage wasn't permanent, but..."  
  
"It's not a pleasant process?" Steve finished the sentence, flashing him something that was meant as a reassuring smile, but was filled with pain.  
  
Bucky nodded.  
  
"Steve, the things they made me do..."  
  
He stopped in his tracks there. A cold chill ran down his spine. Maybe he had already said too much. Maybe Steve could figure it out.  
  
"Bucky," Steve spoke softly, "you know you can tell me anything, right?"  
  
Bucky nodded again, but it felt disingenuous this time. Because let's face it: Steve Rogers didn't know what the hell he was talking about.  
  
Steve took a nervous sip from his own coffee.  
  
"So you know, Nat told me you're welcome to come and talk to her if you'd like. 'Cause well, I guess with her experience she might have other insights than a doctor or..."  
  
"The Widow should mind her own damn business." Bucky hissed, more agitated than he wanted to sound.  
  
His blood had turned to ice. Had she told something to Steve despite her promise? Despite her seemingly real concern on the battlefield?  
  
"It's just an offer, Bucky. We all just want you to be well."  
  
Steve reached out as if wanting to touch him, but hesitated and withdrew his hand.  _Good_ , Bucky thought. Captain America had no business even associating with a disgusting creature like him, let alone touch him.  
  
"I know, and it's appreciated, but I have to do this on my own...I think. Thanks for the coffee."  
  
With that he got up, leaving Steve Rogers sitting there with a worried look in his eyes.  
  
\---

'Doing it on his own', it turned out, involved him going to a sex shop looking for more things that would hurt him in the right ways. He wore his hoodie up and had his hands inside the pockets to give himself some anonymity, but frankly at this point he didn't even care so much about his own dignity. It had been three weeks since he had managed to achieve a climax, and he'd do just about anything for release.  
  
Besides, he seemed to be the only customer.  
  
He ran his flesh-and-blood hand over floggers and whips, wondering if he could use them on himself efficiently. He was impressed by the display of an actual fucking machine, and pondered if it could bring him to orgasm.  
  
"Let me guess," a cheerful voice sounded behind him, "the lady read 'Fifty Shades or Grey' and wants to try something kinky?"  
  
Bucky turned around and saw what he presumed to be the shop owner, a pleasant-looking man in his early 50's, with a chiseled face and lively eyes. Perhaps he had been a porn actor in another life, Bucky thought. His own frowning face was in stark contrast with the man's demeanor.  
  
"It's for me, actually," he said, speaking softly and averting his gaze, trying to disappear in his hoodie. "I need...I need something to use on myself."  
  
"Sure, sorry for presuming," the man continued cheerfully, but his posture was more guarded than before. "There's plenty of that here. Take your time, and shout if you need anything. Always happy to help. I'm Max. I know every item in this depraved little paradise."  
  
Bucky nodded quietly, then turned back to the wall, which was decorated with an impressive selection of dildo's in pretty much every color of the rainbow, organized by size. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of the things on a last row, that began with a realistic replica of a human fist - and wondered if even  _his_  ass could take that much abuse. Merely thinking about being forced open with something like that made his cock twitch and his stomach churn. He was already not himself, he knew. He should leave now, or fifteen minutes from now he might find himself strapped to that damn fucking machine with random passers-by cheering on. Yes, he should leave, go home, and impale himself on his trusty dildo shamefully.  
  
But he didn't. Perhaps he was already too far gone.  
  
Instead he shuffled around the shop, maintaining his arousal from the sight of all the things that could be used to hurt and penetrate him, until the man approached him again.  
  
"Look, kid, I know it's none of my business, but I know a newbie when I see one. Care for some unsolicited advice?"  
  
Bucky looked at him, unconvinced, but nodded and told him to go ahead.  
  
"This is me being a bad salesman, but...you don't  _need_  all that stuff. Certainly not at first. All of it can look daunting, but really you can go a long way with just things you find around the house, as long as you have someone trustworthy who's willing to experiment."  
  
Bucky twisted his lips into a mockery of a grin. "Well, the thing is - Max, was it? - that trust is a thing I've been short on the last few decades."  
  
Max looked genuinely sympathetic. "That's tough, man. Look I don't know your story, but know there's no shame in wanting what you want.  _Believe_  me, you're not the only one."  
  
Bucky felt anger well up inside him. He was surprised at it. Surely it could not be directed at the man, who had been nothing but pleasant to him...trying to be helpful, even? But he was so angry at someone implying that he  _wanted_  this. His mind was screaming in rebellion: _What the hell are you talking about, you bastard. It's not okay. Nothing about this is okay._  
  
Instead of saying that out loud, he was overcome by a shameful need to offend or humiliate the man, that was very unlike him.  
  
"No shame, huh?", he asked through gritted teeth. "Tell me, Max - do you like to be slapped around? Hurt a bit? Do you like to be called a whore while you get fucked like one?"  
  
Max eyes genuinely seemed to widen a bit in shock, but then his mouth drew into a grin and he laughed an honest laugh.  
  
"Wow...wow, kid. Didn't realize you had such a filthy mouth on you from the looks of you. And to answer your question: No....no, I much prefer to do the fucking and the slapping around. But only if it's consensual, if that wasn't obvious. Hence my liking of all this...stuff," he said as he gestured around the shop. "Anyway, I think I probably overstepped my boundaries already. I'll be over there if you want to buy something." With that, he moved back to behind his counter.  
  
Bucky felt his breathing grow erratic. His body felt both terrified and excited. Talking about his own perversions had left him exposed and humiliated...and hence aroused. And this man...this man knew exactly what he was. He had lost the ability for sanity long ago, and really there was just a part of him that wanted to destroy both him and Max right there on the spot.  
  
He could, he thought. He could kill the man with one hard punch of his metal arm, and it would be over. No-one would care much for the owner of a sleazy shop in a bad part of town. He could kill him, of that he was sure, and he certainly felt enough rage over his predicament to feel murderous.  
  
He moved over to Max' counter, and for a brief moment he actually considered it...but then recoiled at the idea. If he did that, he thought, he'd truly be a murderous monster. And he'd still rather be a pathetic whore than that. He'd rather take a million cocks than take one more innocent life.  
  
Instead of killing the man, he stood before him, unzipping his hoodie, revealing the abs under his too-tight shirt. He couldn't believe it even as he was doing it.  
  
"Hey Max?" he asked.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Want to slap me around and fuck me like a whore?" His own words made him rock-hard.  
  
Max' eyes lingered on him, every muscle in his body betraying that he'd want to bend Bucky over the counter and fuck him right then and there. But he made an admirable attempt at self-composure.  
  
"Kid, I think you've got a little too much self-loathing for me."  
  
Bucky's heart was racing, he didn't know quite what he was doing, but he was doubling down on whatever it was. He grabbed Max' hand and pushed it against the bulge of his jeans.  
  
"That might be so," Bucky breathed, "but I have the tightest ass you'll ever stick your cock in and I've been trained out of a gag reflex. I think that might counter some personality flaws."  
  
"This is a very bad idea," Max said, but didn't try to remove his hand from Bucky's crotch.  
  
"I know", Bucky breathed, completely out of control now, "so punish me for putting bad ideas in your head."  
  
"Lord have mercy," the man said under his breath as he pulled Bucky closer. "You're going to be the death of me, kid."  
  
Bucky didn't reply, not even joking about how close that could have been to a real scenario, and allowed Max to guide him to the basement.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It turned out Max had quite the playroom underneath the shop. The shop itself now had a 'Closed' sign in front of the window, and it was just the two of them down here. The basement was filled with strange furniture that reminded Bucky of drawings of torture devices he had seen in a book as a child once.   
  
_He could see his own hand, smaller then and eager turn the pages..._  
  
No, stop.   
  
He allowed himself one brief moment of joy for remembering something from his childhood, then tucked the memory away for later, so no more of it could be tainted by what he was about to do here.  
  
It struck Bucky the man he was with might be a sociopath, and kill him down here. No one would ever know.  _So what,_  said a voice in his head,  _you get to cum or you get to die, either way you get some peace._  
  
Bucky pulled his hood off, giving Max a good look at his face. He could tell from his expression that he was pleased.  
  
"God, you're beautiful," Max breathed as he put his hand under Bucky's chin. Bucky responded by moving his mouth to Max' hand, taking his thumb in his mouth. He sucked it like it was a cock, bobbing his head, and felt himself react to it instantly. He made eye contact with Max while he was sucking, and saw pure unadulterated lust in the other man's eyes.  
  
If he had ever hoped to avert this, it was too late now. He'd stay in this makeshift dungeon and let this stranger do anything to him...anything at all. And that was the intention, after all, wasn't it? To lose himself to someone's rough touches, so he could stop having to do it himself.  
  
He sunk to his knees, still clothed, his thighs spread apart. He folded his hands behind his head, like he'd do if someone had a gun on him: a sign of surrender. He lowered his gaze, waiting for whatever was coming.  
  
His face was now at Max' crotch level, and he could smell the arousal. He loathed it. The scent of male arousal disgusted him, but yet he felt a conditioned _need_  he could not fight, and he knew that cock would be in his mouth soon enough, regardless of how he really felt about it.  
  
"What do I call you, anyway?"  
  
"My name is James. Some call me Soldier. But you can call me whatever you want, Sir."  
  
He could see Max' bulge grow. He liked  _Sir_ , then. That would be convenient.  _Sir_  worked quite well for Bucky. He was used to it after all.  
  
Bucky could feel calloused fingers entwine with his hair and pull at it roughly. He gasped, but didn't move from his position.  
  
"I think I'll call you Fuckdoll, James. You look like a Fuckdoll to me."  
  
Bucky simply looked up to him and nodded, still feeling the pull on his hair.  
  
"So what's your safeword, Fuckdoll?"  
  
Bucky just gave him a confused look.  
  
"God, you  _are_  new. It's a word you use when you want me to stop what I'm doing."  
  
"What's wrong with just 'stop'?"  
  
"Nothing," Max said and his grip loosened slightly, "it's just that some people don't actually mean 'stop' when they say it. But they still need a way to make it stop sometimes. So they say the word. Do you understand that, James? It's important that you do."  
  
Bucky nodded. He did understand it. And it sounded like the best idea ever.  
  
"Pierce," he managed. "My word is Pierce."  
  
Max' grip on his hair tightened again.  
  
"Good boy. You'll learning fast. I'll go easy on you."  
  
"Please don't, Sir."  
  
Max released his grip on his hair, and then Bucky was backhanded unexpectedly. It wasn't really that hard, but the surprise made him cry out.  
  
"Did you just talk back to me, Fuckdoll?"  
  
"Yes," Bucky spat.  
  
"Max' hand landed on the other side of his face. This time it actually stung. Bucky's eyes teared up, more from humiliation than pain, but he looked at Max defiantly.  
  
"Now whatever made you think that was a good idea?" Max asked as he forced Bucky's face up to look at him.  
  
"I don't want you to go easy on me, Sir. " Bucky replied, despite watering eyes. "I can take it hard. I need it hard."  
  
Bucky couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth, but yet there they were, spoken in desperation, driven by pure physical need. He didn't care anymore. He'd let this man abuse him in any damn way he pleased it if would lead to an orgasm.  
  
Max released his grip fully.   
  
"Strip," he ordered, and Bucky did so. It was a clumsy process, trying to do it kneeling down, but he managed.  
  
Once naked, he covered his left shoulder with his right hand - a strange, almost chaste gesture. Max was unsurprisingly taken back by the sight of a metal arm, but to his credit he didn't look put off by it. There was a softening in his demeanor even through his arousal, and Bucky thought he should probably act fast as he could, before it devolved into pity. Because really, pity was not something he could work with here.  
  
"Hence the Soldier," he explained - and lied, but only by omission. "I'm ex-military. Let's not talk about it." Then, realizing he was being forceful while he was supposed to be submissive, he added: "Please, Sir. It ruins the mood".  
  
Bucky felt calloused fingers stroke his hair and then his cheek. The gentleness of it surprised him.  
  
"It's okay, kid. I don't need to know. I can make you get out of your head if you need to."  
  
Bucky leaned into the soft touch. A part of him - a part that ran deeper than the arousal and the anger - wanted to be touched like that forever. He longed for someone's arms around him, cherishing him, telling his it's going to be okay. Only  _it was not okay. It was never going to be okay again_. And who was going to love him if this was he only way...the only way he could...  
  
He swallowed a sob.  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
Max' hand tightened around Bucky's hair again. He closed his eyes. He could hear the sound of pants being unbuttoned and a zipper opening. The sound itself was enough to bring shivers down his spine. It had been ingrained in his memory over decades, and no amount of wiping his brain could remove it. It meant there was no escape for him. The inevitable would soon happen. He'd be fucked in any way the other man deemed fitting.  
  
Bucky could smell the muskiness when Max' cock sprung free from its pants. He opened his eyes again. Max's erection was barely an inch removed from his lips. The man was thick and large. This was going to be unpleasant.  
  
_Good_.  
  
"Do you want my cock, Fuckdoll?" the man standing over him asked.  
  
"No, Sir," he replied truthfully, "but that's sort of the point."  
  
That was the last thing he could say before a cock was shoved in his mouth, and down his throat.  
  
___  


 

 

 

Max forced his cock all the way in. He grabbed Bucky's hair, holding his head in place. Bucky could feel his lips touching pubic hair and his jaw being stretched open. The large shaft had pushed past the point of being comfortable, but that was allright, it's what he needed.

Bucky's eyes were tearing up and he was struggling for air. He felt utterly humiliated and violated, but there was something else underneath there: a strange sense of comfort from being used like that. 

There was a peace that came from being penetrated. It gave him clarity. It gave him purpose. There would be turmoil again once this was over - but not here, not now.

Max held him there for a minute...perhaps two. Bucky felt himself struggle for air, but he did not pull away. He felt his cheeks turn red and his knees grow wobbly, but he would not stop this man from using him.

Finally he was let go and he gasped for air, taking deep breaths to fight the dizziness.

"Oh my God, that's amazing, Fuckdoll. You weren't lying about that gag reflex, were you?"

"No, Sir," he replied, "I'm well-trained."

His mouth was entered again, and this time Max just face-fucked him roughly, with no regard to his personal comfort. The cock kept hitting the back of his throat, and even after a few thrusts he felt like passing out.

In his hazy state, images flashed before his mind's eye, and he allowed himself to be lost in them.

_He was in somebody's office. The blinds were down so nobody could see in, but rays of afternoon light still shone through. Behind the desk, there was a handsome blond man. He reminded him of someone...someone he had long forgotten...but he couldn't quite put his finger on it._

_There was a pressure around his throat, and he realized he was on a literal leash. Holding the leash was Sergei, looking older now than that time on the tundra. It was strange to have both those images in his head simultaneously, and so vividly: the young version of the man, and the older one, with graying hair, sun-damaged skin and a scar over his cheek._

_"Do you find this entirely necessary?" he asked with a thick Russian accent, as he looked at the leash with disgust._

_"No...", the blond man said,"but I find symbolism...important. You are transferring ownership to me, after all, and I find it important my new Asset understands that._

_Sergei shrugged. "Whatever you want. My bosses tell me he's yours now." He handed the leash over to the blond man, who smiled ominously. "And what a fine specimen I have acquired. I am told he's obedient in ever way?"_

_Sergei nodded. "See for yourself if you don't believe me."_

_"Oh I will."_

_The blond man released the leash and turned his gaze to the Soldier.._

_"Strip," he ordered._

_The Soldier obeyed without hesitation, soon standing fully naked, except for the leash. The blond man took a step back and circled him, inspecting his naked form. He ran his hand over he scar tissue near the Soldier's prosthetic. It almost made the Soldier flinch...almost._

_"Open your mouth", he ordered, and the Soldier did._

_"Good teeth", he heard as fingers invaded his mouth._

_The blond man continued to touch his arm muscles, then pinched his nipples, moved down to stroke his abdomen, only to end at the Soldier's cock, that involuntarily reacted to his touch._

_"I'm told it's been a while since he's been used."_

_"Yes," said Alexei. "We keep him frozen between missions. No point in wasting potential when he's not needed."_

_The blond man moved behind the Soldier, where he couldn't see what he was doing._

_"I meant the other sort of use."_

_The Soldier felt a stinging pain: a dry finger forcing itself inside his anus without warning or preparation. He let out an involuntary whimper, but stayed in position, letting the man use him as he wished._

_"God, he's tight."_

_"My predecessor enjoyed using him like that. But it's been a few years now. I'm sure you will find him good as new."_

_The Soldier thought he could discern a mild disgust in Sergei's voice, but perhaps it was his imagination._

_"I think I would rather like a test drive," the blond man said with a smirk._

_"All yours," Sergei said, with mild annoyance._

_The blond man cleared his desk and the Soldier could not help but notice that one of the things removed was the picture of a smiling woman and a little girl. When the desk was empty, the Soldier felt a tug on his leash._

_"Lie down on your back," he was told, and he obeyed. The blond man positioned him so that his head was still sticking out over the edge, and muscle memory made him know what was coming. He wasn't even asked anymore. The blond man forced open his mouth by squeezing his jaw, and the Soldier let it fall open pliantly. Mere seconds later his mouth was invaded by an erect cock. In this position, his throat was stretched and his head tilted back slightly. The cock found no resistance from him and it slid all the way in, filling his throat under the leash._

_The blond man placed a hand on the Soldier's throat, pressing down, feeling his own cock there. A groan of pleasure escaped his mouth._

_"Your predecessor trained him well," he said to Sergei. "What was his name, Alexei?"_

_The Soldier heard no reply, and could only assume that Sergei had nodded._

_The blond man turned his attention back to him. "Well, that should be easy for you to remember, pet. I'm Alexander. But you may call me Mr. Pierce. Whimper if you understand."_

_The Soldier whimpered. Pierce laughed._

_"Good boy."_

_Pierce grabbed hold of his hair, and forced himself even deeper. The Soldier could feel his throat constricting. He couldn't breathe. His face was turning red for lack of oxygen. He was on the verge of passing out._

_"So damn good," he could hear in what felt like a distance._

_Just before the Soldier thought he'd lose consciousness, the cock withdrew and he gasped for air. But it was merely a brief reprieve, because Pierce re-entered him instantly, and started fucking his throat with long, deep strokes that made his vision black out each time Pierce hit home._

_The Soldier hated the taste, hated the smell. The lack of air made him feel anxious and vulnerable. But he was proud, too, proud of being called good, proud for being obedient, proud of being the best soldier he could be. He was well-trained. He could take any pain or discomfort. He was pleasing his new handler, and after all that was all that mattered.If he proved useful he wouldn't be kept in storage, until years later, with holes in his memory. Pleasing his handlers was important. It kept him alive, and if some them wanted to use his holes, then so be it. It was no worse than taking a bullet. Hurt less, most of the time._

_He tried to loosen his jaw as much as he could, allowing his new handler to use him as he wanted. He was glad that he didn't have to worry about his gag reflex anymore. It had been fucked out of him over many, many years. Alexei had told him it was for his own good, and he knew that was true now. Pierce's enthusiastic grunts told him he was doing a good job. His new handler was taking pleasure from him. This was a good sign._

_He tried to focus on that, on the pleasure he was giving. If he focused on that and not on the pain and discomfort, he could take anything._

_But then Pierce started pulling on his leash, constricting his air even more. The grip on his hair tightened, and the thrusts became more violent. His throat instinctively constricted again to fight the intrusion, but that only resulted in even harder thrusts and raw grunts of pleasure from Pierce._

_"That's it, boy. Take it. Choke on it. Unnghh."_

_The times that his vision blacked out become longer and longer, until he could only hear the grunts, and in the end even the noise faded away into blackness._

_\---_

Bucky came to, gasping for air at another man's feet, at another time and place. He couldn't have blacked out for too long, because Max didn't seem worried, and he struck him as the kind of guy who didn't want a dead body in his basement.

"Don't tell me you're giving up already, Fuckdoll?" the voice above him sounded.

"No Sir," he said, his voice coarse.

Max grabbed his hair and pulled Bucky to his knees again. It hurt and it was humiliating - which meant it made him hard. His lips were still streaked with saliva, and he knew how he must have looked: like a cheap whore, willing to do anything for a buck. He lifted his eyes towards Max' face and opened his mouth willingly. The cock was reinserted instantly, finding it's way to the back of his throat - cutting off his air again and ramming in full force.

Bucky observed the man's face and he could see pleasure there. He remembered that, how important giving pleasure was. How the pleasure of others always had to come before his. How his discomfort was irrelevant in the matter.

"You're an filthy little slut, aren't you Fuckdoll?" Max grunted.

Buck didn't really think the man wanted an answer, so he kept sucking expertly. Max seemed aroused by his own words, and fucked Bucky with new vigor. His vision faded to black every time the cock hit home.

For a moment Bucky feared Max might come then and there, dumping his load in Bucky's mouth. The thought filled Bucky with a strange dread, because that would probably mean he'd leave here without getting release, that all of this would have been for naught. 

Fortunately, Max soon pulled out. Bucky blinked with tear-filled eyes as he could finally breathe normally again.

"Didn't think I'd let you leave without trying out that sweet ass, did you?"

"I was hoping not, Sir."

Max grinned. "Good boy."

He dragged Bucky by the hair still, forcing him to crawl to the other side of the room. He stopped in front of what looked like a vaulting horse - at least, it looked very similar to the ones Bucky had seen at school and military training. The only real difference was that there were two leather straps attached to it near the floor,and two leather straps on the far side of it, closer to each other.

"Up," Max ordered, and Bucky did.

He had barely found balance when his legs were kicked apart. His training would be good enough to stop this instantly, but that would go against the point. Max crouched down and fastened the leather straps around his ankles, keeping his legs apart.

"Bend over," the next order sounded, and that too was obeyed.

Max attached the straps on the other end around Bucky's wrist tightly, causing Bucky to be immobilized on the contraption, legs parted , ass up, and arms pulled forward.

Bucky could not see what Max was doing behind him, but he felt something leathery touch his buttocks.

"You look like you've been a bad, haven't you, Fuckdoll?" the husky voice asked.

"Very, very bad," Bucky spat.

He did not like the question...even within this setting. Yes, he had been bad. He had taken lives and dreams, he had influences regimes for the worse, he had caused collateral damage he couldn't even estimate the full impact of. Those memories sometimes haunted him more that their hands on him, than their cocks in him - at least that was just him suffering then, not innocents. What was done to him disgusted him, but what he did to others...that was truly what kept him up at night.

Part of him wondered if that was why he was doing this. Sure, he was frustrated and would do anything for an orgasm...but then, there were people who went without sex for years and didn't seem so miserable. Maybe he really did need the punishment to keep sane. Maybe even Hydra had known that.

A sting on his buttocks made him snap out of his line of thoughts and he was grateful for it. Another strike followed instantly, on his lower back. Too short and not painful enough for a whip, he thought. Too soft for a cane or riding crop. It must have been one of the floggers he had seen upstairs. Being bound and exposed like this, the humiliation was worse than the pain of it, but humiliation worked just as fine for his arousal.

Max continued to flog his back, and he sort of got into the rhythm of it, the warmth and the sting of it. He could stay here for a while, like this. Even the pain was comforting, in a way. It felt like no inch of his back was spared, and soon there was a faint burning, his skin firing impulses. He started sweating and his limbs were shaking, survival instinct mixed with the deep need submit to abuse.  
He must have made a sound, because the stinging stopped and he felt a hand on his right shoulder, that felt strangely reassuring.

"Hey, kid, are you still okay there?"

"Peachy," he said, and the bitterness was audible even to him.

Max slapped his ass with his hand.

"You got quite a mouth on you, Fuckdoll. I'd stuff it again, but that would distract me from that fine arse."

Bucky tensed as he felt Max' thumb enter him. He cried out in surprise.

He needed this. No, he hated this. He wanted it out right now. No, he craved something bigger.

He whimpered as the thumb was withdrawn.

"Let's get that ass ready", Max said.

Bucky had expected spit or lube, but instead the flogger came down on his ass hard, making him flinch. There was another strike, and another, and Max was really putting his weight into it now.

"Hmm,yes, that ass will be so nice and red by the time I'm through."

As Max was hitting him, he could feel the flogger come down on his exposed hole a few times and that did really hurt. It made him clench and tighten, and he knew that was good, because it would burn when he'd be penetrated.

Bucky could feel the tears sting in his eyes, the lump in his throat. This was really it. He was going to let this stranger fuck him like he was a rentboy and then thank him for the trouble.

Finally the flogging stopped, and he could hear the sound of latex being pulled over flesh. He's mostly been used without a condom - they really enjoyed the cum seeping out of him - but he was grateful for it now. He didn't think he could get venereal diseases, but the idea of having to clean the semen out of his ass after he had orgasmed made his stomach turn.

He could hear Max' heavy breathing behind him.

"Please, Sir, I have a request," he managed, hating himself for it.

"What's that, Fuckdoll?"

He was slapped on his burning ass. He winced.

"Please fuck me dry, Sir. I need it to hurt." He barely got the words out. He hated begging for it. He dreaded the actual pain. But he'd gone so far now, he might as well. There was no more dignity left to lose.

"You're really quite something, Fuckdoll, you know that?"

"Thank you, Sir. I'll take that as a compliment, Sir."

After that he felt strong hands grabbing him from behind, holding him in place. Soon there was the all-too-familiar feeling of a cock poking at his entrance. That alone made his flogged asshole send pain signals to the rest of his body. The anticipation was killing him.

When Max finally forced his cock into him, it felt like being torn open, light burning turning to hellfire, taking over his whole body. He screamed, not holding back, letting the pain out, but also accepting it. Max took the request to heart, because he fucked to hurt, and didn't even give Bucky time to adjust before pulling out almost completely, then slamming back in. Bucky screamed again, but softer this time, biting his lip and trying to adjust to the pain. Max started fucking him with an unforgiving rhythm - long strokes going fast and deep, desecrating his most private of places.

He felt his bottom lip quiver and tears streaming down his face. Everything felt so raw - not just his ass or his back but all of it like his entire body was a giant wound and someone had pulled off the scab. 

He pressed his wet cheek against the vaulting horse, letting out quiet sobs with each new thrust. This was his true defeat, and he had yielded to it, his body trained to know how.

The cock was like a weapon, being stabbed into him over and over, tearing into flesh and leaving him aching, his body wrecked and defiled, dirty and disgusting. And deep inside he could feel his arousal building, knowing that this treatment was exactly what would bring him to climax.

This was the terrible, ugly nature of his need. He wanted to beg for mercy, to be released from this, but he was stuck with this body with sickening muscle memory, with a brain rewired to get off on this. There was nowhere to run to. There was no mercy to be given. Bucky Barnes could run from Max, but not from the Soldier.

_\---_

_The Soldier jerked as something his hit stomach hard. His new handler, the one called so similarly to the other, the one who looked like somebody he used to know, was hitting his gut with an umbrella. It was not for punishment, he thought, he could not remember doing something wrong. Or perhaps it was his punishment for passing out. He had not received instructions about it. Sergei never did things to make him pass out. Alexei didn't mind as long as he got to use him, and sometimes he'd wake up with the taste of semen in his mouth or cum leaking out of his rectum, but there had been no retaliation for losing consciousness. It was never good to assume, though. This handler might be stricter. He should learn fast if he wanted to serve this handler well._

_Each blow knocked the air out of him, but he remained in position on the desk. Handler Pierce was stronger than he looked. He had been told this was a good thing. Or at least from the pieces in his head he could remember. A strong, brutal handler meant more pain but more chance of survival. Order through pain. Survival through pain._

_He was grateful his handler was training him so thoroughly._

_The beating stopped suddenly, but before he could recover something smacked against his face, hard. His jaw was not broken, but he could feel blood pouring from his nose. He received an evenly hard blow on the other side of his face. More blood poured from his nostrils and his lip. His new handler was standing over him with a paperweight and grinned cruelly._

_"Great obedience and great endurance," he said, "I gotta give you Russians that."_

_The blood poured into Bucky's mouth and he tried to swallow it down, the coppery taste of it mixing with the not-yet-washed-away saltiness of semen._

_From the corner of his eye, he could see Sergei look on with an expression of disapproval._

_Alexander Pierce moved to the other side of the desk._

_"Spread," he ordered._

_The Soldier obediently parted his legs._

_"Tell me, Sergei - have you truly never used him like this? Even when he is so willing?"_

_"No", he replied, his accent thicker than usual. "I like women."_

_Alexander Pierce laughed as he grabbed The Soldiers ankles, and positioned his cock directly at The Soldier's entrance._

_The Soldier looked straight at him, bloody and beaten, knowing the inevitable reality of what was in store for him._

_"It's not about that," he said with amusement still audible in his voice. His words were meant for Sergei, but he was staring directly at The Soldier's face. The tip of his cock pressed menacingly against The Soldier's hole._

_"I have a wife you see. A child on the way. This has nothing to do with it."_

_Pierce rammed fully into the Soldier with one hard, calculated stroke - forcing open part of him that had been left untouched for years.The Soldier screamed loudly, grown unaccustomed to this use and the pain that went with it._

_"Sex is power," he grunted as he started fucking The Soldier."Sex is a weapon."_

_"If you say so," Sergei said._

_"Just look at him," Pierce said, "he understands that."_

_The Soldier felt Pierce's eyes on him, looking for every sign of pain on his face, making sure to fuck harder when he could tell it was hurting._

_"Tell me something, Soldier. Do you enjoy this?"_

_The Soldier wondered if it might be a trick question. It had been a trick question before. Still, he decided the risk of lying was greater._

_"No, Sir," he managed as he winced from a particularly vicious thrust._

_"Then why do you let me do this to you, Soldier? You're strong enough to stop me."_

_Another trick question, he thought. The dull ache in his gut and in his jaw, combined with the stabbing, recurring pain in his rectum made it hard to think. He tried to get it right._

_"You are my Handler, Sir. You know what is best for me. It is not my place to question it."_

_It was apparently a good answer, because the handler grinned._

_"Good boy. Very good boy.I'm going to enjoy working with you."_

_The Soldier felt his heart swell with pride. He had done well. The new handler was pleased. It was worth the pain._

_Pierce looked over his shoulder._

_"See, you have to remind them of their place every now and then. It's good for them."_

_"Do you understand why this is necessary, Soldier?"_

_"Yes, Sir."_

_"Very good. You are allowed to cry but you will stay like this until I finish."_

_"Understood, Sir."_

_Pierce deliberately drew it out, delaying his own orgasm in favor of fucking The Soldier until it became unbearable for him. He let his tears run freely, as he was allowed, and they mixed in with blood, sticking on his face and neck. He focused on an orange clock on the wall, looking away from the man who was executing this cruel form of discipline. The arm that counted the seconds ticked in time with the thrusts, and he tried to focus on that instead. Seconds became minutes, minutes multiplied, and there was no end to it. The pain was less sharp now, but it was unending, spreading over his whole body._

_Finally - 22 minutes in, he counted - the pain made him shiver uncontrollably and he started to whimper pathetically._

_"Do you want me to stop, Soldier?" Pierce grunted._

_"Yes, Sir. Please, Sir."_

_A hard hand slapped his already sore face. He cried out._

_"You do not get to decide that. Only I do."_

_Pierce pushed The Soldier's legs up, putting them on his shoulders. This angle allowed him to go even deeper and The Soldier thought this might be the point he'd break. He heard himself screaming like it was someone else - long, agonizing screams of a man being tortured._

_Eventually even those subsided and he was left only with the rawness of his pain, unable to feel anything else._

_Finally Alexander Pierce came inside him with a cry, and his ordeal stopped and he was filled with warm, sticky fluid._

_Pierce pulled off him - a sweaty but smug-looking mess by now._

_"Clean me with your mouth," he ordered._

_The Soldier could barely move, but he shakily tried to get up, and dropped to his knees in front of Pierce._

_He licked the cock and crotch in front of him. It was covered with cum, sweat, mucus and blood. He realized now that the warm wetness flowing out of him wasn't just semen._

_"Get up," he was ordered as his unappetizing task was done._

_He pushed himself up with all his might, finding support on the desk. Even then he could barely stand, legs shaky and uncooperative._

_Alexander Pierce took something out of his drawer. It was a beautiful revolver, with inlays of mother of pearl and silver. He put the weapon in The Soldier's hand._

_"Now," he ordered. "Put the gun to your old handler's head and undo the safety"_

_The Soldier saw the horror in Sergei's eyes as lifted the gun and pressed it against his temple. He could feel nothing. He was empty inside.  
_  
"NO!" Bucky Barnes screamed. "Stop! Stop it! Pierce! Pierce!"

Suddenly his hands were free, and he did not know how it came to be. When he looked around we was in a spacious bathroom. He had not seen the place before. He was naked and he was shivering. His throat was sore, his back stung, and his asshole burned, but his body seemed to be mostly intact. 

Yes, he remembered what happened there. It wasn't Hydra...it was someone else. He had chosen this. 

As he took stock of his body, he noticed blood on the knuckles of his right hand and he was filled with dread.

That was not his blood.

What had he done? What had he done and did not remember?

He burst into hysterical sobs and curled in on himself. If he had killed that man, he'd stay here until he'd starve or the cops would find him.

He wouldn't run.

If he was guilty of killing an innocent as Bucky Barnes, and not as The Soldier, he did not deserve to be saved. _  
_


	6. Take One For The Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha comes to the rescue...sort of.

Natasha did not expect any calls today, certainly not now, certainly not at this number. Only a select number of people had it - and the man at the other end was not one of them.  
  
 _"I'm sorry to call at this hour, but I'm looking for a Natalia Romanova?"_  
  
"Speaking. How did you get this number?"  
  
 _"From a card...look it's complicated."_  
  
"Get to the point."  
  
 _"Do you know someone called James? Ex-military, prosthetic arm?"_  
  
Yeah, that was pretty unmistakable.  
  
"We're friendly."  
  
 _"Look, I don't know the story between you two, and frankly I don't want to know. but if you care about him at all, you should come over."_  
  
She sighed.  
  
"Fine, what's the address?"  
  
She noted down the info, and regretted it already.  
  
\---  
  
As she was nearing the designated address, the view outside her Chevrolet's window changed, going from regular habitation blocks to the seedier part of town. She drove past a liquor store, a strip club or two and an adult movie rental (she was genuinely surprised those still existed), until she saw the letters in neon yellow spelling out the words "MAX' SEX EMPORIUM".  
  
She didn't know what she had been expecting, but this wasn't really it. The sign on the door said 'CLOSED', despite another sign declaring that business hours were until midnight.  
  
Her first instinct was to break in and go in unnoticed, exploring, but the voice on the other side of the telephone had given her no indication to think this was a trap. So she quite simply rang the doorbell, like an upstanding citizen. Steve would be proud, she thought.  
  
Some shuffling could be heard, then lights were turned on, and the door creaked open.   
  
"Come in", she heard.  
  
Her eyes fell on the man before her, and from the voice she could tell it was the same person she had talked to before.  
  
He was quite a bit taller than her, graying but handsome, but most importantly he was holding a piece of cloth in front of his face that was soaked with blood.  
  
She considered for a moment to charm him, or to mother him even, but in an unknown situation offense was sometime the best defense. She stared at him with piercing eyes, and he stepped back, clearly not trusting her.  
  
"What did you do to him?" she hissed.  
  
"Nothing!" he exclaimed, him voice muffled by the cloth. "Nothing he didn't ask for, anyway. You should be asking what he did to _me_. He broke my damn nose."  
  
"Where is he now?" she asked flatly.  
  
"He locked himself in my bathroom. Been there for two hours now." He sighed and signaled with his hand to follow him as he shuffled down the stairs to the basement. While she wasn't easily surprised, her eyes widened a little as she saw the veritable dungeon that lay beneath, with contraptions and toys and torture devices.What the hell had Barnes gotten himself into?  
  
"When you say 'nothing he didn't ask for'...?"  
  
"It was consensual, I swear on my mother's grave, and Lord knows she's rolling in it now. It was consensual, he wanted it hard but he safeworded and I stopped, and then he just _snapped_ anyway, and broke right through his restraints. I've never seen anyone do that. I mean, I knew he had some sort of trauma, but a lot of people use this stuff to work through things, and..." he waved with his free hand exasperatedly, still pressing the cloth to his face with the other. "He seemed fine, you know. Nice."  
  
"He is," she said, and realize she genuinely believed that. "Maybe you should refrain from beating up soldiers with PTSD, Max. Just a suggestion. Might improve your general life quality".  
  
"Yeah yeah, I know. I was thinking with my dick and it cost me. No need to rub it in." He motioned to a simple white door adjacent to the playroom. "Just get him out of my house, okay? I'll be upstairs, in case he decided there's more things he wants to break. Like my arms."  
  
"Hey Max," she called out after him. He turned around. "Thanks for not calling the cops."  
  
He shrugged. "What would I even tell them? I figured I'd not be doing either of us favors doing that." He made another frustrated gesture with his arm. "Just do whatever you need to do. His clothes are...somewhere around."  
  
Natasha turned back to the door and gently knocked.  
  
"Bucky?"  
  
There was no reply but she hear a noise, like a sort whimper and something shifting.  
  
"Bucky, it's Natasha. You know me. I'm here to take you home. You're safe now."  
  
Still no reply.  
  
"I'm going to come in now, okay? You're still safe."  
  
The lock was easy enough to pick. It wasn't exactly made to keep in government secrets. The door opened with ease, and she stepped in slowly, careful not to startle him.  
  
She wasn't quite prepared for the sight. Bucky Barnes was sitting on the floor between the toilet bowl and the shower, entirely naked. He was huddled in on himself, knees pulled up, and arms wrapped around his legs. The was blood on the knuckles of his right hand, presumably Max', but some of the white floor tile under him was stained red, too, and she realized he might actually be bleeding from his rectum. He was staring out in front of him, barely acknowledging her presence, and shaking all over.  
  
She kneeled down in front of him carefully.   
  
"Bucky, hey. Let's get out of this place."  
  
Still no reaction.  
  
"I'm going to put my hand on your arm, okay? You're not in danger."  
  
As her hand touched his skin, he did not pull away, but he started trembling harder. He blinked suddenly and returned to himself, his gaze meeting hers.  
  
"Have you come to punish me?" he asked, his voice sounding small.  
  
"Bucky, no, I just want to take you home."  
  
"Steve doesn't want to do it, does he? So they sent you," he continued as if he had not heard her.  
  
She rubber her thumb over his forearm gently. "Nobody sent me. You're not being punished. Captain Rogers doesn't know we're here."  
  
He just started shaking harder; his eyes those of a frightened child. "They're going to put me away, aren't they? Or wipe me again? I killed that man. I'm not to be trusted. _Oh my God I killed that man._ He didn't do...he didn't do anything. I'm sorry, _I'm sosorrysorrsorry...._ "  
  
He was rocking himself back and forth.  
  
"Bucky, you didn't kill anyone."  
  
"Ss-sss-sorrysorrry --so-so-sorry."  
  
"Soldat! Posluchay menya!"  
  
That made his stop in his tracks and look at her. Something changed in his eyes, like he was only now recognizing her.  
  
"Natasha? Natashenka... _pomogi mne, pomogi mne_."  
  
He moved suddenly, and she braced for an attack that never came. His arms wrapped around her, his naked body pressed against her own like his life depended on it. Slowly she returned the embrace. She could feel his body contracting gently but rhythmically, and she realized he was was quietly crying against her shoulder. She moved her hand to stroke his hair, and she could feel him lean into that touch desperately.She just wondered how long it had been since someone had just touched him - not to punish, not to fuck, but just one human being to another. That was something she could do for him. It was frighteningly simple, really. She held him like that until his grip on her loosened and the sobbing subsided.  
  
Somewhere along the lines, self-conciousness must have crept up on him again, because as he pulled away he tried to cover himself. The metal hand moved to cover his crotch, the flesh one was trying to hide the scars on his left shoulder. He averted his eyes and looked to the ground.  
  
"Dammit, Nat. My head's a mess. I'm so sorry you have to deal with this."  
  
She took off her leather jacket and wrapped it around him. It would be too small for him to wear, but it fit over his shoulders just fine, covering the parts he was trying to hide from her. He relaxed visibly.  
  
"Don't worry about it. I offered, remember? C'mon, let's get out of here. I think I even know where your pants are."  
  
That, surprisingly, was even met with something resembling a smile.

\---

A little while later she was standing with her back to him, giving him some privacy. Behind her, she could hear him curse under his breath, and she distinctly heard the sound of metal scraping against metal.  
  
"You okay?" she asked while resisting the urge to look over her shoulder.  
  
She heard nervous breathing. "My hand...my hands are shaking. Not sure if it's muscle fatigue or..." He swallowed the rest of that sentence. "Damn belt buckle."  
  
"Need help with that?"  
  
"You going to dress me now, Natasha?  
  
"If that gets us out of here."  
  
She heard more frustrated fumbling behind her, then an exasperated sigh.  
  
 _"Please."_  
  
When she turned he was mostly decent. He was trembling visibly, even from a distance, and it appeared he did not have control over his prosthetic than he had over his real arm in this state. She approached him, and he made no move to stop her. His expression was one of frustration mixed with shame.  
  
"Okay, I'm just going to..."  
  
She didn't finish her sentence, but he nodded, avoiding her eyes. They were standing close - too close - despite her trying to stay at literal arm distance. There was nothing there she had not seen before on a man, nothing she had not done, but it had never been quite like this. Most men wanted her to touch them - except of course those who very much didn't, those who cowered at her swift vengeance, of whatever it was she was dishing out. This was strangely...functional. She buttoned his pants and fastened his belt as he averted his eyes from her. His breath was still close enough to feel on her skin though, and it felt like a touch, unintended but very much present.   
  
When she was done with her task she straightened his t-shirt. He looked surprisingly presentable given the circumstances. His hair was still a bit of a mess and she reached for it, but stopped mid-air when he flinched.  
  
"Sorry, not touching. You might want to...ruffle your hair or something."  
  
He did with his flesh-and-blood hand, and he flashed her a smile.She knew it was entirely possible it was training, that it was deliberate and had been taught to him to put people at ease. But she wanted to go along with it, and she didn't know why, but something deep inside her wanted that smile to be real.  
  
"Better?" he asked.  
  
"Gorgeous," she said with a deliberate grin. Another smile from him, and she was almost certain this one was real.  
  
She noticed that her jacket was still on his shoulders, and so far, he made no move to remove it.  
  
"C'mon, let's get out of here."  
  
They made their way out the stairs and into the shop. She heard some noise upstairs, then saw Max coming down, looking at them with distrust.  
  
She pulled out a roll of cash and put in on the counter. She kept things like that handy. You never knew when a bribe would be useful.   
  
"This should cover the expenses to get that fixed," she said as she gestured at her own nose. "not that it will make you prettier."  
  
She snagged a box of penis-shaped mints on her way out. "Oh, and I'm taking this."  
  
The doorbell rang as they left, and no-one made any attempts to stop them. Behind them, the aggressive neon light of the shop looked faded as early dawn light started illuminating the streets. Soon, it would be nothing but a memory.

\---

He was looking out of the passenger seat window, the play of early morning shadows illuminating and obscuring his face as she drove them back. His eyes were still puffy and red, his lips slightly swollen, and she could not tell if it was from the crying or the preceding rough treatment. Her jacket was still over his shoulders, and he was clutching it tightly, probably unaware he was doing so.  
  
She had noticed he was handsome before, it wasn't hard to do so. But she caught herself taking in the outline of his profile and enjoying the view. She pushed the thought away immediately, reprimanding herself for eyeing Steve's _raped best friend_ for his level of attractiveness. Steve had told her, on more than one occasion, how women would only have eyes for Barnes before the serum. He had done so in good nature, as a best friend would, affection shining through stronger than jealousy. Prior to Barnes' return, she had assumed that was the influence of nostalgia goggles, but the first time she had a conversation with him - the one where he was trying to apologize for shooting her in a strangely endearing way - she had realized Rogers had not been exaggerating.  
  
The thought turned heavy, and she realized what that must have meant. Hydra would hurt and abused him either way - but the fact that he was attractive probably meant... _regular use_. Seventy years, even with the cryo - she didn't even want to try to do the math of how many and how often.  
  
It occurred to her he had very _young_ eyes for someone his age, with his experience. They were inquisitive and alert, even in their current state, and were taking in the world outside with interest.  
  
"I still can't believe how much has changed, sometimes," he finally said. She didn't know if he was truly being nostalgic or if he was attempting small talk. Either way, it was probably a good sign.  
  
She genuinely liked this - the little pieces of information people often offered. Yes, she had been taught to make _strategic_ use of such information, but even when she did not, she enjoyed the these small insights into the human soul - tiny puzzle pieces she took joy in trying to put together when she had the time.  
  
"I can't even begin to imagine."  
  
"So many cars, so many lights, so many _people_. Everything...smells slightly different, sounds different even." There was a sad smile on him, then a sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm probably boring you."  
  
She realized then that it ran deeper than just the sex. That underneath the charm and the apparent progress, he felt like a burden, like a nuisance. That he might barely be hanging on, and no-one noticed because he was trying so damn hard to seem fine.  
  
"Are you kidding me?" she said with her best enthusiasm. "You should take me on a tour of Brooklyn sometime. I bet you know all the _fun_ details of history. Rogers won't take me up on it."  
  
"Yeah well, you'd probably make him blush for half of that tour."  
  
She popped a penis mint into her mouth. "Nah.Twenty-five percent of the time. Tops."  
  
That was the second time ever she made him laugh, and frankly that alone was worth the nightly excursion.  
  
The relative calm of their car ride was interrupted by an insistent ringing that seemed to have no place there. It took her a second to realize it was Barnes' phone - with a ringtone sounding similar to old-time telephones, but with slightly more of an artificial echo to it.  
  
"Speak of the devil," he said, and his mood seemed to have changed for the worse. That was unusual, because she had noticed that he usually seemed better around Rogers.  
  
"We were going to jog together this morning, but I forgot. Dammit, I can't, not like this." He gestured at himself. "What the hell do I tell him?"  
  
She pulled over, reflexes alert, and took the phone from Bucky before he could protest. She answered with a chipper voice: "Morning, Steve. Should have known you were the kind of guy who rings people before proper sunset."  
  
" _Natasha?"_ His voice was filled with surprise and worry. _"Why are you on Bucky's phone? What's wrong with him?_ "  
  
"Relax, Captain. Your pal is fine. Finally took me up on that offer to talk. Must have worn him out 'cause he's asleep on my couch now."  
  
" _Oh right. I was just worried because we were supposed to meet up._ "  
  
"Yeah, I figured I'd better pick up the phone before you assemble a search a rescue team. Look, I'll tell him you called when he wakes."  
  
" _That's fine...it's not urgent. Thank you for talking to him, Nat. I think it will do him good._ "  
  
"No problem. Hey, I'm going to hang up before I wake sleeping beauty here, okay?"  
  
" _See you later, Nat._ "  
  
She turned back to Barnes and handed him back his phone. "There, all fixed."  
  
He looked at the now-dark screen with doubt. "Yeah, except now I can't go home to clean up, or he'll know we lied."  
  
"True...but I actually do own a couch. And a shower. If you'd like."  
  
He looked at her, and it was his Winter Soldier look. Calm, collected, trying to gauge his opponent. ...very unlike the man who had been sitting next to her just a moment ago. "Why are you being this nice to me? All I ever did for you was shoot you and ruin your party."  
  
That was a tough one, she thought. And maybe there wasn't really an answer to that, not a clear one. Barnes was a potential threat to the little status quo that her Avengers-family had going, and she'd hate to see it fall apart - if she could keep him stable enough not to be a liability, everyone would win. But that was too calculated, too rational, and she knew that she was fooling herself if she thought that to be her only motivator. Besides, she didn't know if Barnes would deal well with that explanation when he already felt like a burden. It also wasn't strictly true...she felt for Barnes. While their experiences were different, she did know a thing or two about brainwashing, and recently she had felt the annoying need to talk about it. Maybe when she had offered to lend an ear, it wasn't entirely altruistic. But that wasn't something she was ready to share. Maybe humor would get het off the hook.  
  
"Oh, you know. I'm doing to do the whole 'be a better person' thing. It's an annoying phase, as you might know, but you'll just have to put up with it for now. Besides, I just lied to Captain America. I mean, either I do a good deed right now or I'll have party-crash a church and do twenty Hail Mary's, because there's probably special place in hell for people who lie to Steve Rogers."  
  
And just like that, the Winter Soldier was gone, and it was all Bucky Barnes again.  
  
"Well shit, he got to you, too."  
  
She smirked and rolled her eyes - an acknowledgement, really. It wasn't even that it was entirely untrue, it was just that truths were rarely simple or singular, and there was another truth there: that it might not be Steve Rogers who got to her right now, but Bucky Barnes.

\---

The place was a bit out of the way and the rest of the Avengers did not know about it - or if they did, they had the good sense to leave her the privacy she craved. Like the others she had been offered a place to live by Tony Stark, and while she had accepted the apartment and made it her official residence...well, there wasn't really such a thing as an _ex-spy_. One single place to live would make her too easy to track down...too vulnerable. Fortunately she had a lawyer who was very good at setting her up with temporary residences. With any luck, he could even resell them with mild profit.  
  
She pulled over, got out, and breathed in the chilly morning air. It was getting closer to winter, and the Earth seemed reluctant to soak up he sun's early rays.   
  
She opened the passenger seat door for Barnes, feeling strangely protective of him. He took in the surrounding with the Asset's eyes.  
  
"Should have known they wouldn't domesticate you," he noted.  
  
"Yeah well, guilty as charged".  
  
As the made their way to the front door, she could tell Barnes was hurt more than he let on, taking careful steps instead of his usual confident stride. She didn't remark on it, realizing that doing so would likely make his feel humiliated.  
  
She fumbled with the keys and it was all so terribly _mundane_ and low-tech compared to her life with the Avengers. This wasn't a place she often visited. In fact, she was thinking of selling it again, but right now it would serve its purpose.  
The house was suited for a small family - or a couple who like their space. The furniture was at a bare minimum, and some rooms were simply disused, but the living room did indeed have a couch, a table with some chairs and a few computer screens with surveillance equipment. Unimaginative curtains could be used to obscure everything from outside view. Upstairs there were two bedrooms - but only one housed a single bed, the other was used for storage.   
  
Barnes looked around the living room and there was the faintest hint of a grin on his face. "Love what you've done with the place," he commented.  
  
"Hey, it's temporary, "she said as she waved her hand, presenting the space to him, "And I didn't lie about the couch. Hell, I'll let you have the bed if you're tired . _Moy dom - tvoy dom_. So, what do you need? Sleep? Shower?" She was being terribly casual about this, or rather wanted him to believe she was - fact was, this was the first time she brought one of the team to one of her safehouses and she didn't really know how to feel about that.  
  
He finally took her jacket off his shoulders, folded it over his arm, then handed it back to her.  
  
"I...I'd like to get clean. If that's okay." There was so much in those two sentences that she did not want to get into now, and she wondered if the sort of clean he was after could even be given by a shower,and if he expected people to give him permission for that, but she pushed both thoughts away.   
  
"Of course."  
  
She escorted him upstairs and showed him to the bathroom. It wasn't luxury, but it was functional, and acceptable to offer to a guest. There was a bathtub she could see him look at longingly.  
  
"Bath works fine if you prefer. We're not in a hurry."  
  
She grabbed some towels out of the cupboard and found herself wishing she had nicer ones - but at least they still smelled nice. He took them from her gratefully, and held them close to himself, as if he were hugging a pillow.  
  
"Okay so, you do your thing. I think I might still have some clothes in case I ended up here with a male operative, so if I find those, I'll knock and leave them in front of the door. "Oh and..." she said as she rummaged thought the medicine cabinet, eventually finding the tube she was looking for,"...this stuff is great. It will help you heal faster and it's safe to use internally, should you need to." She said that as neutrally and casually as she could, realizing full well that most men were not too thrilled about having _that_ particular conversation.   
  
If he was embarrassed, he did not show it, and he matched her casualness when he took it from her.  
  
"If there's places you can't reach, you can ask me, I don't mind" she added. She was wondering if that was a good idea, but if she was going to do this, she might as well do it properly. That did change something in his expression, something she couldn't quite read, something vulnerable behind the trained facade of a soldier.  
  
She was turning to leave when he finally spoke.   
  
"You know, you don't fool me, Romanova."  
  
"That so?"  
  
"You're secretly a nice person."  
  
She shrugged. "Guess that happens when you start hanging with those pesky good guys."  
  
With that, she left, and left him to his privacy. It did not take her long to find the spare clothes - just a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants. Both were stretchy enough to not need to be an exact size. She folded them neatly, knocked, and left them in front of the bathroom door as promised.  
  
She was tired - the whole thing had left her sleep-deprived and more drained than she would have expected. Any attempts to sleep, even nap, were made impossible by the state of alertness she appeared to be in. She was constantly checking the bathroom for unexpected sounds...and a dreadful feeling crept up on her...what if he would consider hurting himself...or worse?  
  
So she just stayed in the adjacent bedroom, curled up on the bed with a book, keeping her ears open. She could hear the water running a little too long, but that was to be expected. Her attempts at reading mostly failed. The book was actually a work on Steve Roger's life that she had purchased mostly for teasing Steve about any details she might find. But now, the words she read didn't quite make it to her head, and as she flipped the pages nervously, she found some of the illustrations. One picture, black-and-white, of Barnes and Rogers, stood out. Both were smiling like she hadn't seen either of them do in real life. She traced her fingers over it, and felt like it was almost a too-private moment for her to see, even if the picture was in the public domain. Her thoughts were cut short by something that sounded a lot like sobbing, and she considered knocking on the door, but decided against it. The sounds subsided about 15 minutes after that, followed by the sound of water running out of the bathtub. When she heard the hairdryer she felt a little relieved, and decided to go downstairs - in part to make breakfast, in part to not have him know she had been listening in.  
  
She would not call herself a _good_ cook - not bad either, but mostly just functional in terms of making things that got you through the day. There wasn't anything fresh here, though, so she did not have much to go on. She found a protein powder mix, and by the time Barnes came down the stairs she had whipped up something resembling two milkshakes. She wished she had something better, but at least if would give them energy.   
  
He looked more relaxed as he stood in the doorway with clean clothes and freshly washed hair.  
  
"Hope you like chocolate. Or you know, chocolate-inspired flavoring."  
  
He drank it eagerly, and for a moment they just say at the table together, drinking the shakes, like it was a totally normal day. He slurped the last bits when he was almost done, and for some reason that amused her, maybe because it was so not how she had imagined Hydra's living weapon.  
  
After he was finished, she could see him fumbling with something. It didn't take rocket science to realize it was the tube she had given him earlier.  
  
"Some place you can't reach?"  
  
He nodded meekly. "You _did_ offer. You don't have to, though."  
  
"Don't be silly." She got up and gestured to the couch, and he followed her without question. He sat down, facing away, pulling up the T-shirt a little. That showed angry red skin, presumably from one of Max' toys.  
  
He took a deep breath. "I was...flogged. Some of it's on my back."  
  
She undid the cap and squirted some of the cream in her hand. She held up the tee with her clean hand, and carefully rubbed it unto his skin. There was something of a sigh on his end, and at first she wanted to ask him if she was hurting him, but he leaned into her touch, and she realized it must have been more like sigh of relief - maybe the stuff really did feel good to him, or maybe some non-violent touching was doing him good. Asking would only make it more awkward.  
  
She did not draw it out, but made sure she did a good job, treating the marks on his skins with care.  
  
There was a question on her lips, a question that had been there since she first came to get him. She was pretty sure asking it was _not_ a good idea, but she decided to ask regardless.  
  
When he turned to thank her, he already noticed something was up. He searched her face with his eyes, trying to read her.  
  
"There's something I've been wondering," she finally said.  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"You told me - and I quote - that you don't want a cock up your ass, yet here we are...so excuse me if I'm wondering what happened today."  
  
"I didn't lie," he said, eyes candid and focused, and she could see that was the absolute truth. "I don't _want_ it. In fact, I hate it. But I _need_ it, do you understand? I tried to hold it off for months, but I'm only a man...I need the release. Hydra ruined me, you see...and I can't...it needs to feel like r....like ra..." His words failed him; she could see he could literally not get the word out. He bit his lower lip, as if physically trying to stop himself from speaking it. He shook his head and tears came out of his eyes. "I'm so sorry you have to deal with this. I know it's revolting." He swallowed and tried to compose himself, but she could tell he was nowhere near okay.  
  
She was processing the information given to her, trying to detach it from emotion. She was trained to do this: think fast, consider possible solutions, come up with a plan. As unfortunate as Barnes' situation was, the solution that came to her was surprisingly simple.  
  
"So...what if I provided you with what you needed?"  
  
"Can't," he said. "That's sort of the point. I can't...look it _doesn't work_ with women, as much as I'd like." His face was a world of sadness now, and he bowed his head as he spoke softly. "Not even with one as pretty as you. I need to be hurt, penetrated, humiliated. All the things Hydra did to me."  
  
She wasn't quite ready to give up on the idea just yet, as crazy as it sounded."Okay, but there are toys, right? And a bit of acting? What if I could give that to you?"  
  
She could tell he was thinking. The little cogs in his mind were turning at great speed. He was resisting the idea, but she saw a little flicker in those eyes telling her he was considering the offer.  
  
"You want to _fuck_ me, Natasha? That what you're saying? Bend me over and tell me how much I need it? What a bad little Asset I've been?" The disdain in his voice was audible.  
  
She shrugged. "I neither want to nor don't want to." That, at least was true. "Sex can be a tool,and I'm quite proficient at using it, even though I say so myself. At least with me, you'd be safe."  
  
"That's _disgusting_."  
  
That wasn't quite the answer she had expected, and maybe she had gotten it all wrong - she could give him sex if he needed, but she was no therapist - she was too damn messed up for that herself. She knew when to abort a failed mission. "Well you sure know how to make a girl feel wanted, Barnes. I'm flattered. Forget I mentioned anything."   
  
She stretched out her hand and offered it to him. "Friends, then? No hard feelings?"  
  
He looked at her hand but did not take it. He was forcing himself to look at her, trying to hold his composure with every fiber of his being. He was a mess, possibly on the verge of breaking down. She saw anger mixed with sadness and desperation, but his voice was gentle when he spoke. "I didn't mean _you_. I'm disgusting. _Me_. And what you're offering...God Natasha, how can you even consider that? How would you even do that without throwing up?" He swallowed and looked away. "I could never ask a girl to do that. It's not right."  
  
That last bit made her more determined. "Barnes...listen to me. Say no if you hate the idea, but don't refuse a good deal because of goddamn misplaced  _chivalry._ Trust me, I've seen or done it before."  
  
He was quiet for longer than was comfortable, and did not meet her eyes. She knew in that moment he was not refusing her for lack of wanting.  
  
She crouched down next to him, trying to read his facial expressions. "Hey it's worth the shot, right? We can stop if we both hate it," she added.  
  
"Why?" he finally asked.  
  
She took a deep breath. "Because frankly I _like_ being an Avenger and it endangers us all if you put yourself in unsafe situations. One of these days it's going to backfire and I _know_ you're smart enough to know I'm right. You have a problem I can fix, it's as simple as that, and we both get to be on a team we really want to be on."  
  
"So what, you're taking one for the team?" he asked.  
  
"If that's how you choose to see it."  
  
"I do like the idea of being safe," he admitted, barely audible.   
  
"Well, think about it," she said - and then, trying on a sterner, commanding voice. "Should you choose to accept, I will set up a room. Before you come to me, I expect you to brush your teeth, shower, trim your pubic hair and have an anal douche. I will give you a collar and you will kneel before me naked. _Then_ we can talk about what a bad little Asset you've been and how I'll punish you."  
  
She could hear something that sounded like a held back whimper, and the gritting of teeth.  
  
"That's humiliating," he hissed.  
  
"I know. But that's sort of the point, isn't it?"  
  
He looked up at her, anger and defiance in those blue eyes. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his crotch almost forcefully. She could feel the hardness there, pushing against her palm. "Congratulations, Natasha. Hope you're happy now."  
  
"Well, I guess we don't need to worry about that working, then".  
  
He was almost coming apart now - face red, breathing rapid, eyes streaked with tears. He looked like he was about ready to jump her and put a knife on her throat, and instinctively she already braced herself for that to actually happen. Instead, he just let go of her hand, and let himself slouch in resignation. "You realize, by the time we're through, I might just grow to hate you?"  
  
She sighed. Honestly, she did not like that idea. Not at all. She should not let it get to her, but those words stung more than they should. She wanted to do this for him, but she also caught herself thinking of wanting this man as a friend - though she realized both might not be possible, and he needed something a friend could not give him.  
  
"I'm pretty sure there's a line from here to Russia populated with people who hate me, Barnes," she said with as much aloofness as she could muster, "I'm sure I'll live."  
  
He never actually told her he'd take her up on her offer - but by the time she dropped him off at his place not much later, she already knew he'd be calling her soon.


	7. Foreplay for Sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Bucky set up their little arrangement.
> 
>  
> 
> I guess I'm going to warn for anal douching, but it's not graphic. As for the rest, some dehumanization and rape (which you should know by now).  
> This is also the chapter where Natasha's flashbacks begins - and while not overtly sexual, these are fairly unhealthy things happening to underage characters.

Bucky was leaning against the shower wall, slightly bent over. He inserted the nozzle into his rectum, and squeezed the warm water inside. He had been doing this for two weeks now, keeping himself immaculately clean, diligently having made this part of his morning routine. It made him half-hard every time, the humiliation mixed with the feeling of being penetrated - but it didn't hurt, at least. It felt strange, though, and it made him hyper-aware of his ass being a penetrable hole, which he supposed was part of the intended result.  
Sometimes, not always, there was something in his head that felt like it clicked...pieces of conditioning, or memories that would not quite surface. There was a strange calm to those moments, like his body did already know the way, like his decision to submit to this had always been an inevitability. There were other times he wanted it out of him so badly, times when it got mixed in with memories of his handlers calling him filthy, cleaning him out before fucking him, then berating him once more as he was sticky with sweat and blood and semen.Sadly, today was one of those days.  
  
_"Holy fuck, that's disgusting."  
  
The Soldier didn't know this particular man, but Rumlow had ordered to please everyone who wanted it until further notice. Twelve men had come to his cell that day alread and used him as they saw fit. Twelve times he had drawn tally marks on the wall, knowing he'd forget by the next time they'd wipe him, that someone would clean the wall or he'd be moved by then, but it felt somehow important to keep count anyway.  
  
"Are you sure even  want to fuck him? He's filthy," a second voice said, and the Soldier added two more stripes to the wall. Perhaps it was premature, but really, none of them ever said no to a free fuck.  
  
"Hang on. I need to fetch something. You hose him down in the mean time".  
  
The man yanked his hair and pulled him to his feet roughly. The Soldier could barely stand. His legs felt wobbly and the place between his buttock burned like fire. The fire spread inside as he tried to walk, and he felt something warm and wet run down his thighs.  
  
The man took him outside, to a a courtyard of sorts. The Soldier didn't recognize this place, didn't remember ever being here, but then again he forgot times and places. It was sunny. The seasons must have turned to summer without him noticing, too. His eyes tried to adjust to the light.  
  
"Stay," the man said, and The Soldier was pushed to his knees.  
  
He had long stopped trying to memorize all of their faces, remember their names, or try to plead and appeal to their humanity. They had none. Or perhaps, it was him who wasn't human anymore, and that was why they were treating him as a thing.  
  
For a few brief few moments he actually enjoyed the feeling of being outside - the wind in his hair and the sun on his skin. Then, without warning, his body was hit by a hard beam of water that knocked him off balance. But he'd been told to stay, so he tried as much as he could.  
  
The water was cold on his body, and impacted him with bruising force, but he sort of welcomed getting clean.  
  
"All fours," the man ordered, and he did.  
  
He was hosed down from other angles now, but at least in this position it was easier to hold his balance.  
  
"That's better. Now hold your ass open for me."  
  
He whimpered. He wanted to say no, but he knew there was no point. It would happen anyway, and some of them actually hurt him more when he struggled, refused or showed pain. He bent his head down and spread his ass-cheeks with his hands. That movement alone was painful. As the cold beam of water hit him there, and he tried to balance himself, he could now stop himself from screaming out loudly, the pain being too much for him to bear.  
  
Finally the water stopped, and he could hear laughter behind him. The first man had returned.  
  
"I leave you alone for five minutes and you already have him in tears."  
  
"Hey, I literally didn't even touch him." More laughter followed.  
  
The first man moved to stand next to him and swatted his ass.  
  
"Nice day for a lil' outdoor fucking, don't you think, Soldier?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," the Soldier replied, knowing there was no point in resistance.  
  
"We're going to get you nice and tight, so you feel good for me. You want to be good for me, don't you?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," he said again, already knowing this would be unpleasant.  
  
The second man came to stand with them, and offered him a ball of cloth.  
  
"Here, bite down on this," he offered.  
  
The Soldier clamped down his teeth on it. Maybe if he didn't scream too loudly, they might make it quick. At the very least, it would make sure he'd keep his tongue. Tongues were nice. At least he thought he remembered they were. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he had kissed someone once, with tongue. That was long ago, when his mouth still belonged to him. When he was allowed to want. It had felt nice, kissing. The soldiers who fucked him, never kissed him. He was glad for it. Maybe one day, a long time from now, he could do that again with someone. Yeah, he definitely wanted to keep his tongue.  
  
He could recognize the sizzling sound of the stun baton and his body started to shake even before it ever touched him. When it did, the pain was excruciating. The water conducted the electricity all over his skin and he spasmed as it burned, and he thought he was really going to die this time. When the blunt tip forced its way into his ass, he screamed through the makeshift gag, and it still sounded terribly loud to his ears.  
  
The man pushed it in and out a few more times, turning the power on and off, until screams were replaced by desperate sobs, and his body went limp and pliant under the abuse.  
  
"See that's a trick I learned from some of the older guys," the man said to the other. "If you're like the tenth in line, you can make him tighter again with these things. Works like a charm."  
  
The Soldier was shaking uncontrollably as the gag was removed from his mouth. His breathing was erratic and he struggled to get all the oxygen he could. He didn't get long, because the gag was almost instantly replaced with a hard cock. A hand grabbed his hair roughly, and pulled him all the way down on it. When a dick was rammed up his ass, he couldn't scream, because he was being stuffed down to the throat. His ass felt like it was being torn open by a dagger, every thrust more painful than the previous. He focused on keeping his mouth stretched open despite the pain, because he did not want to know the consequences for biting down.  
  
It took long, so very long. The guy who was fucking him took his time, and made every thrust hard and deliberate, until he was close to coming, at which point it going even worse. He held the Soldier's hips in a vise-grip, and fucked into him brutally and erratically, until he came with a scream.  
  
"Holy fuck, that's a good ass," he panted as he drew out of the Soldier.  
  
The guy in his mouth hadn't yet come, despite the talented ministrations of the Soldier's tongue. The Soldier supposed he was intentionally holding off, because as soon as the other guy came, the cock was pulled out of his mouth, and something forced itself into his ass again.  
  
"Shit, you're right, man. He's still tight after taking you."  
  
It didn't take so long this time. Just a couple of painful minutes of penetration, some grunting and swearing, and the Soldier could feel another sticky load being dumped in his ass.  
  
"Pity's he's in cryo so much. I'd like to ride him more often."  
  
"Well, a little birdy told he's got two more missions this month. That's something to look forward to".  
  
He was pulled to his feet again, and then brought him back to his cell, being half dragged and half carried, not able to really walk anymore. He fell asleep from sheer exhaustion but soon - too soon - he could hear his cell doors opening again.  
  
"Aw guys, really? Can't you fucking clean it after using it?"  
  
The Soldier pushed himself up with the little strength he still had left, and added another tally mark to the wall. This one wouldn't say no, either, despite how dirty he was. He'd be here for another month. Better get used to it. _  
  
In the shower, Bucky Barnes was rock-hard and shivering. He turned on the water and it was blissfully warm, making even the shivering subside in a few minutes. He thought about masturbating but that would make him feel unclean again, and he didn't feel like doing this all over again.  
  
Getting out of the shower, he didn't completely hate what he saw in the mirror. It occurred to him it has been a while since he felt that way. He still hated the left shoulder and all that went with it, but objectively, he knew didn't look awful. He still kept his hair longer, but he had trimmed his pubic hair as requested, and he'd also gotten rid off the scruff on his face, and all in all he felt like he was almost presentable to be seen by a beautiful woman. Not that that really mattered anymore, in that sense. But if she was going to see him, and touch him, whatever her reasons, he wanted to minimize any unpleasantness for her.  
  
He hadn't told her yet, that was the funny thing. The decision had been made, but telling her would make him unable to back down and that frightened him. But then, every time he thought about that twinge of fear, he felt a stirring in his pants.  
  
In the mean time he had done his research. The internet offered some visual imagery of how such a thing would even _work_. He found leather-clad beauties sporting large rubber dongs that they used on their male "victims". His mother, he was sure, was rolling in her grave for him even looking at this. It was educational, though, to say the least. Some of the toys looked even more uncomfortable that a real cock - and that had some potential. Uncomfortable he could work with.  
  
The thing he feared the most is that it wouldn't work at all. That she could fuck him and abuse him, and that his own dick would remain stubbornly unresponsive, that he'd prove useless even in this regard. He wanted to try, though, so very badly. He believed her when she said he'd be safe. Someone like Natasha would know a lot about pain, and about how far you could push a person before damaging them. He absolutely believed that she could have him sobbing on the floor if she wanted to, but he'd still be physically well enough to fight an hour later. When he thought about her touching him, it was part fear part excitement, or maybe those were two sides of the same coin.  
  
If he needed this abuse, then he might as well make it as comfortable as possible. She was good at what she did, she was a teammate who seemed to have his best interest at heart, and she was easy on the eyes. Really, that was much more than he could ever asked for.  
  
It took him another hour to actually work up the courage to call her. When he did, she answered the phone almost instantly, and greeted in him cheerfully.  
  
"So...I made a decision. If the offer still stands."  
  
_"Of course it still stands. A promise is a promise. I'll arrange it, and let you know when."_  
  
And that, pretty much, was it. The fear and excitement in his gut only grew stronger after that - but really, it felt like the excitement was winning.

 

\---

 

"You know, Nastasha, when you said I owed you a favor this is not the way I thought you'd collect on it."  
  
The man went by the name of Grzegorz, and she did not particularly like him, but as far as reformed low-lifes went, he was actually pretty decent. His main business used to be stolen cars, and he had workshops where he repainted them. Nowadays he had gone "legit", or mostly anyway, and ran a second-hand car dealership. He even had a cheesy commercial on local TV and everything.  
  
He had hired her once, back in his shady days, because his daughter had been kidnapped. Guess that came with the territory. In that sense, she was glad her kid being taken for ransom would never have to be a worry for her.  
  
Either way, she did not take kindly to big men who negotiated through little girls. So she took him out with extreme prejudice, for a fraction of he usual fee and a yet-to-be-determined favor in the future.  
  
Which is why it was that right now she was looking out over the derelict hangar, that had once housed luxury stolen cars, but had now fallen into disuse.  
  
"I'm surprised how you even know it's here," Grzegorz added.  
  
"I have my ways."  
  
They took an industrial elevator that let them one floor underground, a place that had once been a hidden storage room...and torture chamber.  
  
"I swear this isn't mine. It came pre-installed and frankly, I didn't feel the need to ask what it was used for."  
  
She believed him. Despite his many faults, Grzegorz did not enjoy torturing people, nor had he ever been that level of criminal to have a need for it. He just had a tendency to gather unfortunate associates.  
  
"You can use it as long as the building still stands, but please, I do not want any trouble."  
  
"There won't be."  
  
"For the sake of my daughter, I hope you are not lying."  
  
Well, he sure knew where her buttons were. Smarter, more powerful men had failed at that, but Grzegorz knew at least one weakness.  
  
He handed her the keys to the building, and left. She heard the whir of the elevator as he left without her.  
  
The room was not exactly in mint condition. It smelled of dampness and it most certainly needed to be cleaned, but it had potential. Whoever had left it originally, did not care to take everything with them as they left. The center of the room still had something resembling an arm chair, that sported restraints for both arms and legs. They could not hold the Winter Soldier, she was sure, but wasn't that meant to be symbolic anyway? She realized she would be winging it. It had not been a lie, when she had told Bucky she'd done these things before - but she knew it would be different with a supersoldier. She had also omitted the fact that she had mostly done it with men who were her targets in one way or another - not necessarily to kill, but to extract information, to gain access - a means to an end.  
  
In the past, her goal had been to make the sexual interaction _useful_ to her, and no matter how she would twist and turn it, or tell herself that this was to keep the Avengers safe, in practice this would be about _him_. Even if he said he'd hate her, she still had to be able to look him in the eye after, make sure he was safe and got what he needed.  
  
She inspected the room. A quick turn of the faucet taught her that there was running water, even though it came out wheezing reluctantly. There was something of bathroom adjacent to the main room, though it was more like a cell to hose someone down. She wasn't thrilled about this arrangement, but she had decided she couldn't do this with other Avengers around, nor did she want to compromise an of her safehouses in case...what, he screamed? Bolted? Trashed the place?  
  
Someone had actually left equipment - pliers, devices to administer electric shock, bone saws even. She made a mental  to get rid of the latter; she didn't think she'd want to go into _that_ particular memory of his right off the bat.  
  
There were chains attached to one of the walls - more ways to keep a person immobile. Another wall had four full-length mirrors which, although stained by now, would have given the victim full view of what was happening to them. Maybe a nose or an ear being cut off, she thought. They would have had to face their own deformity on display. Yes, she could certainly imagine a breed of sadist that would enjoy that.  
  
Almost reluctantly, she hovered near the mirror. She saw nothing but herself, but today she felt like a stranger looking at her own reflection. Who was the woman standing before her? Did she even know? Did anyone know?  
  
_"Anna, that is not a grand écart! Your legs need to be stretched out, girl. Stop bending your knee!"  
  
Teacher brought down her cane against the blonde girl's leg, and she winced, but tried to comply the order. Natasha held her breath as Teacher approached. She could see in the mirror her pose was near perfect, but Teacher could always find fault if she chose to.  
  
"Well done, Natasha," Teacher said as she hovered over her, and Natasha could hear herself releasing a breath.  
  
There were seven of them in this room. They had been divided roughly by age - the younger and older girls getting training elsewhere.  
  
"Agility is important," Teacher said to the room. "We teach you ballet because it's a bit like fighting. You need speed, and grace, and control. Ballet, battle, espionage - all of it is a dance. Some dances take longer than others, but in the end, you simply need to know the right moves."  
  
Teacher clapped her hands to signal the end of the exercise. Natasha got up from the floor, and saw her peers do the same.  
  
"Today is a special lesson," Teacher said. "Come stand in front of the mirror, all of you."  
  
They all looked at their reflections, seven girls with Slavic faces, dressed in in plain black leotards, looking back at themselves with a mixture of fear and determination.  
  
"You are all 14 or 15 now. You are becoming women. What you see in the mirror is your most important weapon - not guns, not knives, not anything else we will tech you to use here."  
  
Natasha looked at her own reflection, finding those words hard to believe. She looked awkward to herself, limbs a little too long, hair unruly, face still round with baby fat. She was one among the best in training, she knew, but certainly not the prettiest in her opinion.  
  
"Some men will want you for your innocence", Teacher continued. "Some will want your for your beauty. Some will want you because you're dangerous. Some will want you to be their childhood sweetheart, their lover, their friend, their whore, their mother. If you live long enough, their grandmother even, or their teacher. It will be your goal to identify how they wish to see you. What they need from you. Their need is their weakness, and you will exploit it. Do you understand?  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," seven voices said in perfect unison.  
  
"Natasha," Teacher said. The cane was tapped gentle against her chin - a way to get her full attention, but also a warning. "Why don't you show us how you would charm a gentleman."  
  
Natasha could feel herself tremble as she gazed at her own reflection. It wasn't visible, but she knew it was there. She put on her best smile and curtsied, as she cast down her eyed and tucked her hair behind her ear with one hand. Then she looked back up through with wide eyes, batting her eyelashes twice - subtle enough not to be obvious, but enough to draw attention to herself. "Hello, Sir," she said with a thick American accent and a honey-sweet voice that didn't sound like it should belong to her. "So very nice to meet you." She turned as if to lead the non-existing man somewhere, showing the newly developed curves of her buttocks to the mirror, looking over her shoulder invitingly. "Would you like me to show you around?"  
  
Teacher clapped her hands. "Very good, Natasha. I can tell you will go far."_  
  
Natasha snapped back out of her reverie, coming back to herself. She grimaced and turned from the mirror, not liking the sight of herself right now.  
  
_Identify how they wish to see you,_ she thought to herself. But it occurred to her she had no idea how Barnes wished to see her. She wasn't even sure what he needed. He _said_ he needed a rough fucking, but for all she knew that was actually terrible for his recovery.  
  
Her thoughts were cut short by the piercing ring of her cellphone. She was surprised she even had coverage here. It was Barnes' name on the screen. Damn, that boy had interesting timing. She picked up, slightly annoyed, but she found that the moment he spoke, she actually liked hearing his voice.  
  
_"Hey Natasha, am I disturbing you?"_  
  
"No...just thinking of creative ways to torture you, actually."  
  
There was a brief silence.  
  
_"That's...kind of you, I guess. I'm sorry, this is coming out wrong. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."_  
  
"Not getting cold feet are you?"  
  
_"Is that a hint you're planning to dunk me in icewater?"_  
  
Now she was the one to be briefly silent.  
  
_"Relax, that was a joke."_  
  
She breathed a sigh of relief. _Good_. He was able to joke about it, at least. Though she was sure that was one huge defense mechanism.  
  
"Careful, dear, you might give me ideas."  
  
_"Yeah, that's the thing. Maybe we should talk, you know. About ideas. Before I'm naked on your floor?"_  
  
He had a point, of course. She had meaning to have that talk to him, but she'd been putting it off. She knew this would be tricky. How would she even define consent with someone who really had no choice? How would they separate who they were as people, as teammates, from what they were about to do?  
  
"Alright, good. Are you free tonight?"  
  
_"I'm always free, Natasha. It's not that I have an overwhelming social life."_  
  
"Okay, let's have dinner. My treat, okay?"  
  
_"Romanoff, are you trying to woo me before you bend me over?"_  
  
"Don't you wish, Barnes. Be ready at 7."  
  
_"Aye Aye, Ma'am"._  
  
Dammit, she thought. He was _nice_. He was nice and he was funny, and that would make all this so much harder.

 

\---

 

He had tormented himself over how to prepare for this. He had told Steve that he was taking up Natasha on her offer to _talk_ , which he felt sort of bad about, but functionally it was a good lie. One of those lies that had enough truth in them for people not to be suspicious.  
  
He had looked up more about this BDSM thing online, things about safewords and safe, sane and consensual - but there was a lot of stuff that seemed to contradict itself, too.  
  
When he read about fantasies or real-life accounts - which felt almost like prying, even though they were posted in public - what struck him was that the submissive party was so often _really into it._ He didn't quite get that - these people had a choice, why would they choose it? But he was hardly in a place to judge anyone. He figured the experience would be different for him, but the rules would be functional enough.  
  
He showered, trimmed as requested, and cleaned himself out by command. It still got him hard every time, and he still hated it, though he supposed it would have its purpose from now on.  
  
He wasn't quite sure what one should wear to these occasions. He dismissed a few options as either too formal or too casual, until he settled on new dark blue jeans and a red henley with a leather jacket. He put on gloves, not to draw any attention, and decided this would have to do. This 21st century fashion thing was still confusing for him. He had cared about how he looked when going out a great deal, before the war, but those rules no longer applied in this world. He'd be overdressed and would stand out. Then as the Soldier, he only wore what he was told, which was mostly functional. He was genuinely baffled by what passed as presentable nowadays, and had no idea what one would wear to the date - but he took comfort in the fact this actually wasn't one.  
  
It would be...a negotiation of sorts, he figured. Which was good. He never was able to negotiate this before, he just had to submit to it.  
  
He tried to practice it in the mirror - telling her the things he needed. They never came out right, and his words sounded both silly and vulgar to him when he actually tried - so instead he took a piece of paper and wrote it down.  
  
_  
-anal and oral penetration (preferably without preparation)  
-verbal humiliation (calling me names and telling me I want it)  
-physical pain (anywhere, but better if in erogenous zones)  
-choking and/or depriving oxygen  
-making me cry  
-forced orgasms (or denying orgasms)  
-making me obey you  
-treating me as an object  
-taking your pleasure regardless of my comfort. _  
  
He was sure there were a few more, but that would keep her occupied for a while. He folded the paper and slipped it in his inner pocket, making sure no prying eyes could see it.  
  
She arrived at 7 p.m. sharp, dressed in black and armed with a smile. He recognized the jacket as the one he'd kept wrapped around him just a few weeks prior.  
  
"Are you ready to do this, James Buchanan Barnes?" she asked.  
  
"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied.  
  
He was no car outside, and instead she walked him over to a motorcycle. He wondered if this was a test, to see how he'd react, or if she just felt like taking the damn thing instead of a car.  
  
"I like it," he said.  
  
She smirked, and that might have been smugness on her face. "Thought you might."  
  
She hopped on, and he climbed behind her.  
  
"Hold on tight," she said, that that was a relief, her giving him the explicit permission to touch her, because he never knew how that was with handlers. He knew she wasn't quite a handler, that he should not call her that lest he'd unsettle her - but for practicality's sake, it was useful for him to think in those terms. He locked his arms around her waist, and clung to her as she raced across town.  
  
He rather loved the freedom of motorcycles, and he was always happy when people would let him have stolen touches, even if unaware. This was good. This was a good beginning.  
  
The place was slightly out of town, and hardly looked like a restaurant from the outside. The inside was warm and crowded, with several loud conversations going on at once. There was was an older, corpulent man with a white mustache that matched his unruly hair standing at the counter, conversing with a blonde waitress. He wore a black vest over a white shirt that had food stains on the right sleeve, but he seemed to pay it no mind. When he spotted them, a smile formed on his face and he ran up to them.  
  
"Natasha, darling, so good to see you! It has been too long."  
  
"You know I had to come back sooner or later, Ivan, I missed your cooking."  
  
The man laughed jovially, then sized up Bucky. "And who is this then - business or pleasure? Он твой парень или очередной твой приятель-киллер?"  
  
""два в одном," Natasha replied with her best smile, and Bucky could feel himself blush, especially as some of the quests seemed to have overheard.  
  
"You are still quite something, my dear! So, one of the upstairs tables then?"  
  
"If you'd be so kind."  
  
They were led upstairs where it was less crowded and noisy. There were 8 tables, but they were all located in something of an alcove, giving each table privacy from the other. No other tables were taken, though, and they seemed to have the upstairs room to themselves. It was a pleasant setting - a gingham red-and white tablecloth adorned the table, and the white walls of the alcove were decorated with with little square mosaics here and there.  
  
"You get settled. I'll be back back in a while," Ivan said cheerfully.  
  
He leaned to Natasha and half-whispered "Он красавец", but Bucky could still hear, and this time he turned a deeper shade or red.  
  
Ivan left, and Bucky fumbled with the menu.  
  
"I take it he doesn't know I understand Russian."  
  
She grinned. "Probably not."  
  
"He thinks we're sleeping together, you know."  
  
"Of course he does. Is that so bad? There's several men downstairs who are now very jealous of you. Trust me, I saw them look."  
  
He didn't quite know how to react to that, but he felt a little pride well up inside. Maybe even if it couldn't be, he liked to pretend - he liked the idea of at least _looking_ desirable, looking like he was enough to please her.  
  
She must have known what he was thinking, because she added: "Enjoy your victories, Barnes - however small - lord knows you didn't have enough of them. Besides, if tonight goes well, we sort of _will_ be sleeping together, now won't we?".  
  
Yeah, that was still strange to think about. It wouldn't be regular sex, and it wouldn't be a relationship but she was right. In the broad sense of the word, they _would_ be sleeping together - engaging in sexual activity at least. There was really nothing about his upbringing that could have prepared him for this. There was nothing about his Hydra training that did, either, now that he thought of it. They'd have to figure this out from scratch.  
  
There was a part of him that really liked the idea, but another wondered if it would be worse with a beautiful woman. The good news was that he wouldn't have to let strange men put their hands on him anymore. The bad news was that like this he would be reminded of all the things he couldn't have anymore every time he would be with her.  
  
"You don't mind, then? People knowing, that is." he finally asked.  
  
"Well, I'd cautiously suggest not to tell the other Avengers, not until we actually know how it works out, at least."  
  
He nodded. Yeah, it was one thing to humor him in front of faceless, nameless strangers who didn't know the details of their arrangement. Having their friends know the savory details...well, he could see why she wouldn't want that any more than he did.  
  
He reached in his pocket and scraped his throat. He handed the folded paper to Natasha.  
  
"I...made a list. Maybe it's helpful."  
  
She looked at the paper and he couldn't quite read her face.  
  
"They're the things that are likely to arouse me," he said as calmly as he could. "Most of them are not strictly necessary, but I will need some combination of pain and sex for it to work."  
  
"Hmm, and safewords - just the classic green, orange, red?"  
  
"I have no negative connotations to those words, so I guess. Though I might reach a point where I'm unable to use them. For the sake of honesty."  
  
"Good to know," she said, while still studying his list, and he still couldn't guess what she was thinking. It could be annoyance, but it might as well be sarcasm.  
  
They were startled by footsteps. It was Ivan coming up with two plates. He sat them down in from of him and Natasha. "Enjoy, children! This is the one with extra beer in the sauce. House special!"  
  
Natasha's mouth corners looked like they were fighting a smile as she tried to quickly fold the paper again with a slight of hand.  
  
There was a twitch in his pants, and he wasn't quite sure why, but he figured it was the idea of getting caught. He could feel his face flush and his blood run cold at the same time.  
  
"Call me if you need anything else," Ivan added as he took off again.  
  
She looked at him in a strange way - thinking, calculating, like a predator contemplating to pounce.  
  
"So goulash by default then?" he asked to relieve the tension.  
  
"Trust me, it's the only thing worth having."  
  
"What's the story here anyway?"  
  
"Ivan here was a physicist who defected in the cold war. He used to cook up chemical weapons, now he's retired and cooks goulash. Life is funny that way. I made sure he can do so peacefully."  
  
He thought that would have diverted her attention, but she was barely done talking or he felt her foot settle on his crotch. He gasped in surprise.  
  
"Hmm, getting caught is not enough for an erection then, but enough to get the little guy to notice," she said casually as she stuffed some food in her mouth. Her calling it _little guy_ sent another jolt of arousal through him. He was perplexed and felt his face flushing again, but he made no attempt to stop her.

"Eat," she ordered, and he obeyed. She made no attempts to remove her foot.  
  
The taste of goulash reminded him of Russia, of winter, of him being hungry and begging for food.  
  
_The smell was permeating his nose. It was the only edible thing for miles, and it was simmering on the simple fire Alexei had made. He was sitting on his knees, awaiting orders. He had not eaten for two days and he was ready to beg for it. Alexei saw him looking and laughed. He kicked him like a dog. The Soldier had his breath knocked out of him, but he resisted the urge to double over.  
  
"You want to eat?" Alexei asked. The Soldier nodded.  
  
Alexei unbuttoned his pants straight in front of the Soldier's line of vision. He then proceeded to slap his semi-flacid cock on the Soldier's face until it was hard.  
  
"You'll have to eat my load first. Then we'll see about the goulash."  
  
The Soldier was hungry. Really, there was no choice. He opened his mouth, and it was instantly stuffed with Alexei's erection. At least it felt warm. _  
  
He heard fingers snapping, and he was drawn back to reality. He could feel he was now half-hard under Natasha's foot, and he looked at her pitifully.  
  
"You get those often?" she asked.  
  
"Yes."There was no point in denying.  
  
"And you get hard when you remember them raping you?"  
  
The question struck him like a lightning bolt, and his half-erection swelled still. He cast his eyes down in shame and nodded. Now she knew his little secret. How fucked up he really was.  
  
She didn't look appalled, though, not as much as he expected her to - but then again she was good at hiding her emotions. She looked pensive, if anything.  
  
"Okay," she said, "okay I need to be careful with that, but it can work to our advantage."  
  
He was breathing heavily, mind clouded by the memory and his growing arousal.  
  
"So where's the list of things I _shouldn't_ do?" she asked as she pressed harder against his cock.  
  
"There isn't one," he panted. "You can do anything."  
  
"Anything?" she asked. "Anything at all?"  
  
That, too, aroused him. The idea of being owned so thoroughly, so completely. She could fuck him with a knife, chop off another limb, flay his skin off - in this moment of arousal he didn't care. He'd obey her. He'd adore her like a Goddess.  
  
"I trust you," he managed. "I trust you not to cause too much damage, Natasha."  
  
That predatory look on her face returned. "Hmmm, it's cute how you say Natasha. But you should call me Mistress when we play."  
  
"Yes, Mistress," he said instantly, instinctively, before he could even decide he wanted it.  
  
A small part of his brain still had control, and he tried to express one last wish before he knew he'd let her take over. It was intoxicating and familiar, yet new and exiting, too.  
  
"Please, if I may beg...don't call me Bucky when...not when we do this."  
  
She removed her foot, and moved to sit next to him. The empty spot on his crotch was replaced by her hand.  
  
"Okay...James then - is James acceptable?"  
  
"Yes, Mistress."  
  
He could feel her breath hot on his ear as she whispered into it.  
  
"Tell me James, have you been keeping clean as I requested?"  
  
"Yes, Mistress."  
  
"Say it out loud."  
  
"Yes, I have been cleaning my rectum as you instructed, Mistress." He was fully erect now, and his skin felt on fire. He felt compelled to tell her the truth like this, even if it was humiliating. "I have been doing it for weeks now. I wanted to be good for you."  
  
She ran her fingers over his erection, her lips still close to his ear. He was lost now, too caught up in this moment to refuse her. She really could do anything.  
  
"Hmm, you really are a little slut, aren't you? Just thinking of getting that hole of yours stuffed gets you hard."  
  
The words hurt, but also made his cock leak, and he whimpered pathetically as she continued to stroke him.  
  
"You know what I'm going to do, James?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"I'm going to bend you over right here, right now, and there's nothing you can do to stop me".  
  
That was it. Something in his brain must have short-circuited, but he got right to that spot where he needed to be, where he craved to submit, where he knew his body would take over. He didn't even know how he ended up bent over the table, what was left of the food pushed to the side, with his pants pulled down.  
  
She swatted his ass and laughed. "Nice trim, sweetheat" He felt both humiliation and pride, but he tried not to think of it, he focused on letting instinct take over. She moved behind him, and could hear the sound of a latex glove being pulled on. It filled him with fear and anticipation. What followed was the near-obscene sound of her sucking her latex-clad fingers. How he wished he could see her now, but his wishes were irrelevant now. When she stopped, he could feel her other hand come over his mouth.  
  
"No screaming, or we'll get company.I know you can take it."  
  
Then without warning, she forced her finger inside his ass, and he shivered, but kept silent as instructed. She removed her hand from his mouth, and the part of him that was Bucky came to the realization what was happening.  
  
"Oh my God," he breathed, "you're _inside me._  
  
It sounded so stupid and obvious, but it was also so hot to hear himself say it, no matter if he was Bucky or James or the Soldier, he wanted to memorize that first she claimed his body as hers.  
  
" _Natasha,_ " he said - knowing he shouldn't - and moved his hand to her wrist. He wrapped his fingers around the smooth skin there, holding her in place. She stopped moving, but did not pull away. When he had reached for her, it was to push her away, but now that he could, he stopped himself.  
  
" _Bucky_ , easy" She stroked his back, coaxing him into arching it.  
  
"Don't fight it. Let me do this for you. It's okay. I'm going to give you what you need."  
  
He held her wrist in place for a few more moments, then gently squeezed it it acknowledgement, before letting it go in surrender. "Thank you, _Mistress._ "  
  
She pulled his hair and pushed deeper into him. He went pliant under her touch, and spread his legs a little more. When she forced in a second finger, he bit his lip, and grabbed onto the table, making one side creak where metal fingers dug into wood.  
  
He hadn't used any of his toys since her offer. His hole was incredibly tight, as it always was when he let his body rest for a few days. He had wanted it to be, for her. Just two fingers were enough to give him pain, which was exactly what he had hoped for. She moved in and out of him, and his cock was impossibly hard, reacting to pain and humiliation as it always did.  
  
"So very tight you are," she said, "I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."  
  
He whimpered desperately, grinding against her.  
  
Then, as unexpectedly as they had come, her fingers were gone. His body mourned the loss of them, but it was not his place to complain. She swatted his ass again. He wanted to protest, but he did not have the words nor the resolve.  
  
"Pull you pants back up," she ordered, and he did, though it was a bit awkward as he was still erect.  
  
She tossed the glove aside and sat back down. She poked what was rest of her goulash with her fork, then stuffed a few more pieces in her mouth, like if nothing ever happened. He just kept standing there, wrecked by emotions and sensations, until she ordered him to sit.  
  
"Well that works," he said mostly to herself. Then, to him: "You're not to masturbate until our next session. I want to try few things out. I want you tight, and I want you horny. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, Mistress."  
  
"Good, now finish your food."  
  
He did not particularly care to after all that happened, but not a hair on his head considered refusing her. The simple act of eating did seem to bring him down a bit, though, and when he was done he pulled his arms to his chest, crossing them protectively. He felt her eyes on her - curious, observing.  
  
"Are you okay, Barnes?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, pretty sure the FDA wouldn't approve - but yeah."  
  
She smiled and it was big and seemed genuine. He tried to smile back, still feeling vulnerable.  
  
"This is probably the point where I should warn that that owning my ass mean you have to put up with my terrible sense of humor, he added.  
  
Her smile turned into a chuckle.  
  
"Alright, so you do get back to yourself reasonably quickly. Good."  
  
He wanted to tell her it wasn't that simple, that _himself_ was a faceted thing, and that he was as much the Soldier as the man who was hiding his vulnerability by jokes - but he did not want to tell her anything that might change her decision.  
  
She took a deep breath. "Okay. I can live with this. Looks like we're sleeping together, then."  
  
"You're crazy, you know that? And that's coming from the brainwashed guy."  
  
"Good thing we're equally matched, then."  
  
She pulled out her wallet, left a generous tip on the table and led him down by his arm. He let her, still somewhat pliant. She said her goodbyes to Ivan, who dramatically made a point of her leaving so soon and without having drinks with him.  
  
When Bucky was sitting behind her on the motorcycle, he could still feel her fingers inside him. He was half-hard against her, but if she felt it, she did not comment or scold him for it. He realized that for him, there was no more turning back now. He was doing this, and he hoped she'd keep him as safe as he promised - because he might no longer have the ability to stop her if she didn't.  
  
He wondered if their next session would be soon, because he wasn't sure his erection would subside at any time before she fucked his brains out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Он твой парень или очередной твой приятель-киллер?: Is he your boyfriend or one of your assassin friends?  
> -два в одном: Why not both (loosely)  
> -Он красавец: he's a handsome man


	8. First Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sex happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad (non-sexual, but still bad) things happen to minors in this chapter, so I'm giving an extra warning for that.

  
It was the sort of dreary day that most people use as an excuse to stay in. The rest of the team had decided to do some R&R together. They never found it strange if she did not participate, and she had not been part of the decision making process for activities, but Natasha decided she could at least attempt to show her face. Rogers, apparently, was doing "movie night" except that movie night started at 2 p.m. already. Steve had finally decided to see Star Wars, and Tony had suggested they'd make it a marathon, and that was it.  
  
Sam was showing tacky 80's trailers on Youtube as "previews" and she was only half watching that, decrypting potentially interesting intel on her tablet instead. Nobody commented on it, and she sort of liked this, to sit here lazily with her friends, doing not much at all. Next to her, Wanda was sitting leisurely, genuinely enjoying the trailers, sometimes commenting on how bad the were. Vision was on Wanda's other side - still looking rather strange in civilian clothes - cocking his head at most of the things on screen, as if it was the most bizarre thing he had yet come across. Steve was sitting on the other far end of the 4-seater, sporting the sort of amazed smile a 5-year-old would have.  
  
Tony an Rhodes had a two-seater on the side, and Tony brought a huge bucket of popcorn, and commented on how they really should redo the original trilogy in 3D, which earned him an angry glare from Sam, who had the other 2-seater all for himself, and was sprawled over it completely. Clint said he couldn't make it, something about a road trip with his family, and she understood - but she did miss him.  
  
Barnes was suspiciously absent. She was aware that things between him and Stark were tense, but as far as she knew, he was invited as long as Steve was there, too.  
She already decided she would not ponder on it when he walked in, just barely after the beginning credits of the actual movie started rolling.  
  
So, he did want to participate. He probably just wanted to avoid the awkwardness of pleasantries that came before.  
  
He entered quietly, like an assassin would, and she was the first to notice him entering, which gave her a few moments to try and read him. He actually looked quite good - clean shaven, with freshly washed hair. He was wearing a blue jacket, blue jeans and a black shirt. She noticed that, unlike Steve, he always wore his shirts a little too large, and she wondered if that was on purpose, if he was deliberately hiding himself from prying eyes.  
  
He seemed to be holding it together on the surface, but the black circles under his eyes told a different story.  
  
"Hey, nice you could make it," she said. That made Steve look and damn, his face lit up like a sunrise on a summer morning.  
  
"Bucky, you came."  
  
Barnes smiled, too, but it was sad and tired - though he was trying very much to be pleasant, she could tell. And maybe this was enough, maybe this was what it really was all about: these little slivers of happiness, however fleeting - they were worth fighting for. If not, then all the killing aliens and bad guys didn't matter one bit.  
  
Sam scooted over somewhat reluctantly to make room for him, but Bucky politely declined, and sat down on the floor, close to Steve's feet.  
  
"Are you sure that's comfortable?" Steve asked.  
  
Bucky just nodded, and leaned against the couch. She wondered if he was even aware what he was doing, expressing this mix of independence and still feeling the need to _heel_ , to have a handler, to be told what to do.  
  
Her eyes crossed with Wilson and she knew he realized too, and they just looked at eachother in silent acknowledgement.  
  
Barnes must have noticed a tension, because he looked at her, drawing himself more into that too-large shirt, crossing his arm protectively, but still trying to smile at her.  
  
She leaned over, looking away from her tablet.  
  
"You'll love this. Steve told me you like futuristic stuff, right?"  
  
"Used to, long ago. Thanks for having me here."  
  
Even Tony made a sort of hand-wavy motion after that, signifying he was okay with Barnes' presence here.  
  
Bucky seemed more at ease after that, and about a fourth into the film she could see he had really gotten into it. For a short, precious time, all of it was gone - the Winter Soldier programming, the desperate need for guilty pleasure. He even laughed a few times - genuine and heartfelt -and looked on with eyes full of wonder.  
  
For a moment that stung. This was what she'd be taking _away_ from him, this person slowly returning to being comfortable in his own skin again. And in exchange he'd get - what? A few seconds of sad release? The smile he had on his face now would never be for her, never for what they did.  
  
After the first movie ended, she went to the kitchen to get some drinks. When she turned from the fridge, Sam was standing behind her. He was getting better at this stealth thing.  
  
"You saw that,too, right? I'm not imagining things?"  
  
She took a deep breath. "You're not."  
  
"Should we be worried?"  
  
"I don't think he's a threat, if that's what you mean."  
  
"Steve said you're talking to him. I'm guessing it's not exactly approved therapy?"  
  
She gritted her teeth.She really did _not_ want to have this conversation right now and she sort of resented Rogers for passing the info on. Sure,he meant well, but this level of busybodying annoyed her.  
  
She took hold of Sam's arm and pulled him close, making sure no-one else could hear. "It's not. But it might help. And for crying out loud, tell Rogers to stop telling everyone and their Mom. I know he has good intentions, but Barnes is an adult".  
  
"Hey, wait, did you just imply I'm Team Mom?"  
  
"Sam...I'm serious."  
  
He held up his hands as if in supplication. "Okay...just, let us know if we need to know."  
  
"Can't promise you that, either, Sam. You _could_ try asking him, you know.  
  
Sam looked at her, almost suspiciously. "When did you get so protective of _other_ people's secrets?"  
  
"Since he trusts me, apparently." She sighed. "Might not be the brightest match in the box, that boy."  
  
It was Steve who walked in on that. "Gossiping about me, Nat?"  
  
"Sure am. I was just telling Sam here how you're oblivious to all the girls who like you."  
  
Barnes, as expected, was not far behind. "It's comforting to know that some things never change, at least." He was teasing, obviously, and patted Steve on the shoulder affectionately. He looked at her with a sort of weary resignation and forced a smile.  
  
Steve took a beer. She didn't know why he even bothered. It's not like he got drunk from the stuff, and American ale was hardly worth it for the taste, as far as she was concerned. still, he and Sam took a six-pack back to the living room and she was left alone with Barnes.  
  
"Thought you might have called me by now," he said after a few moment of pause. There was something about his demeanor that reminded her of a teenage boy being turned down by a potential prom date. Not that she had much experience with that part of American culture, mind you.  
  
"I will. Just wanted to get some things ready. Why, can't wait to get into my pants?"  
  
He shuffled and hung his head a bit; not quite the reaction she expected. "It's just...I get anxious not knowing when. It might help me to know, so I can focus on other things. Steve's even talking about maybe letting me try and be on the team. So, if you'd be so kind? _Please?_  
  
He was looking around nervously, worried that someone might have overheard them - but she was quite sure everyone was out of earshot.  
  
The look on his face was downright miserable, and the last _please_ sounded more like begging than as a request. Dammit, he really _was_ going to hate this, wasn't he? Even if it was her and not a stranger in a torture dungeon.  
  
She took a deep breath. "Look, I'm only just figuring this out myself. I'm sorry that I made it harder for you, but you need to tell me these things".  
  
"There is nothing to be sorry about. It is your prerogative as my ha...my Mistress. I am asking a favor. It will beg for it properly if it pleases you. Would you like me to get on my knees?"  
  
For a moment she thought he might kneel down right here and right now, but to his credit he never seemed to forget there were others there. This was a mess, though. They hadn't even properly started and already if was getting out of hand. She had chosen not to be overly controlling, not wanting their arrangement to affect the rest of his life - but in letting him be free, she had caused him more distress.  
  
"Okay, here's what we're going to do," she finally said, "Today, we're just going to hang out here. Be sociable. Or try, at least. You don't have to worry".  
  
It truly looked like a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulder immediately - his body released tension, shoulders slouching, face relaxed.  
  
"Thank you, " he said like it was something she was responsible for.  
  
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but she saw him cutting off a train of thought in his mind.  
  
"Steve's happy," he said instead, and there was a gentleness to his voice now, almost wistful, that had not been there before.  
  
"How about you?"  
  
"I liked the movie,"he replied while avoiding her eyes. "Everyone's nice," he added.  
  
That obviously wasn't an actual answer to her question, and they both knew it.  
  
She considered an idea, and almost as quickly as it came up, she decided for it. She took a small black book from her pocket. It was a good old-fashioned calendar. Some days were marked with an X, accompanied by initials or codes for people and places. It would probably not make sense to anyone but her, unless they really tried to crack it. She opened it on this week's page and handed it to Barnes. He looked at it curiously.  
  
"Never figured you to be the low-tech kind."  
  
"Those are the appointments not even the Avengers know about. Can't hack a notebook. They can try to pry it from my dead body, but they'll have to work for that."  
  
Her words made him change his grip on it. He was touching it reverently now, like she had just handed him some country's crown jewels.  
  
"This is precious to you. Why are you giving me this?"  
  
"Pick a free date," she instructed as she handed him a pen. He still looked like he was not quite sure about this. To be honest, neither was she. At this point, she didn't know if trying to give him more control was making it better or worse, but she needed to at least have the illusion of his free will, for her own conscience if nothing else.  
  
"I'm not sure I understand," he stammered.  
  
"You choose when we do what we do. That way you know the time and place, and you don't need to be anxious."  
  
He looked like he was about to cry. "But...I don't get to choose. That's not how it works."  
  
"It's how it works now."  
  
He held the pen in his flesh-and-blood hand. He moved it closer to the paper, then looked up at her for permission. "To...tomorrow? Is that okay?"  
  
"If it says it's free, it's free."  
  
He scribbled something down, then handed the book back to her. The letters J.B.B. were written on tomorrow's date in neat cursive.  
  
"I'd just like to get it over with," he said. If she had ever been under the illusion it would not be so bad for him, she was now cured of it.  
  
"You don't _have_ to, you know. You could still change you mind."  
  
" _You_ could," he replied. "I don't have that luxury".  
  
She wanted to say something, but Steve peeked in then, announcing they were ready for the second film. Barnes did seem more relaxed now, and when Sam started passing around chips, he even leaned in and offered the bowl to her.  
  
It went well for a while, and she went back to absent-mindedly doing some work, while alternating watching pieces of the film and observing her friends' reactions to it.  
  
Then the film got towards its ending, and it hit her mere seconds before what that actually _entailed_. She wanted to say something, but it was like watching an accident in slow motion, and how the hell did none of them realize before?  
  
The moment Darth Vader's lightsaber swung to cut off Luke's hand, she could hear a sharp intake of air, and she saw Bucky visibly flinch as his own hand flung to his shoulder. He must have jerked against Steve's leg, because Steve's expression was instantly that of worry.  
  
"I'm sorry, I need a moment," Bucky managed as he all but fled into the adjacent room.  
  
"Really, guys?" Steve said. "One of you could have told me". He was throwing accusing glances at Sam and Tony particularly, and the latter just shrugged.  
  
Natasha scraped her throat. "Steve." She got up and put her hand on his arm. "We forget sometimes. We try." She motioned to the door with her head. "Go after him. Give him a hug, or whatever you guys do." Steve looked like he was about to protest, but then disappeared after Bucky.  
  
This...this was not her part to play, but if she could steer people in the right direction...  
  
She remained in front of the paused TV screen, sharing an awkward silence with the others.  
  
"Is he okay?" Wanda asked with a small voice, but no-one really replied her, Sam just sort of shook his head."Who even knows?"  
  
Barnes re-emerged maybe 15 minutes later, eyes red and expression guilty. "I'm sorry for ruining movie night," he said. It was one of those things that was awkward for everyone - really there was no need for apologies, but nobody really knew what to do or say. Rogers had his hand on Barnes' shoulder, and that did seem to ground him, but all in all the evening wasn't really going to be salvaged.  
  
"Hey, you know, three movies is more than is good for my attention span anyway," she ended up saying. "Say what, next time we do movie night at my place. I pick the film." Tony made a sound of protest, but she threw him a stern glance, before returning her attention to Barnes. "I'm putting you and Steve in charge of snacks." That made him smile, at least.  
  
She took her leave not long after; she was never much one for awkward situations. Might as well get some things ready for tomorrow, if she wasn't doing any social bonding.  
  
She hadn't even reached her car yet before she felt her phone stir. The message was from Barnes, and it simply read "THANK YOU", not even specifying why or for what, but she could live with that. Maybe if she tried, she could get this right.

\---

Natasha slouched down in the torture chair and sighed. She felt sweaty and tired, and not at all confident anymore in what she was about to do. She thought about how Bucky's face had lit up at the sight of spaceships on screen,how he smiled when he forgot to be sad, and even how he cried, more gently than one would expect of a man of his stature. The feeling that maybe what they were going to do was wrong, was constantly nagging at the back of her mind. She was no psychologist. This could do more harm than good. But she made a promise, and breaking it might lead him to seek out desperate solutions.  
  
She thought about him on that bathroom floor, huddled in on himself, not knowing who he even was. No, she couldn't know all that and let him be used by strangers. At least like this she'd know no-one was going to slit his throat and bury him in their backyard.  
  
She took to cutting her nails. It was likely it wouldn't even be necessary, but if she was going to be - as he had put it - _inside_ him, that would prevent any damage she _didn't_ plan for. Remembering the way he had said that sent shivers down her spine and she didn't even know why.  
  
The funny thing was he'd probably let her shove anything in, long nails and all. She needed to be the responsible one here. As she cut her nails to an acceptable length, memories crowded her mind.  
  
_"Please, you have to help me."  
  
Anna's expression was bordering on hysteria and she was nervously looking around if no-one could be eavesdropping. She cornered Natasha in the toilets, standing between her and the door. Natasha thought about all the ways she could punch Anna to the floor and walk out. Two - maximum three moves, she thought. But she had no quarrel with the girl.  
  
"We're supposed to do it ourselves," she hissed.  
  
"I know! I tried but I...I can't. Please, I don't want to disappear like Yelena did."  
  
"You don't know it was because of that," Natasha said, hushing her voice.  
  
"You don't know it wasn't."  
  
Anna held up her hands. The pinky and the ring finger on her left hand looked bloody and painful, both missing their nail. The other nails were still present, though the one on her middle finger looked chipped and had blood under it.  
  
Natasha sighed. All of her own fingertips were covered in bloody band-aids. They had been given 48 hours. She had been the first to succeed at the task.  
  
"If I do this, you owe me a favor."  
  
Anna nodded feverishly. Two favors. Three. Anything you ask."  
  
Natasha sighed. She took out her own pliers, still safely in her pocket. If Teacher was going to give her tools, she would not be stupid nough to lose them.  
  
"You need to be quiet."  
  
"I don't know if I can."  
  
"Then you need to make yourself quiet. Take off your shirt."  
  
For a moment the girl looked terrified, but she obeyed. She was still wearing an undershirt, but it was enough to make her shiver in the Russian winter, even if they were inside. Natasha made the shirt into a makeshift gag.  
  
"Open your mouth," she ordered. Anna did, terrified, and had the shirt shoved in. After that, Natasha worked quickly. She did not want to get caught. She placed the pliers on the already-chipped nail and pulled. It came out with reluctance. Anna screamed a muffled scream against her gag. Natasha didn't stop. She quickly moved to the next finger. That one took two tugs to get it loose, and she could feel Anna shaking as she got to the thumb. That made catching the nail between the pliers harder, but she managed soon enough, and tore the thumbnail loose.  
  
There was a significant amount of blood, and it dripped on the old tiled floor. She wanted to take Anna's other hand, but the girl desperately shook her head, tears streaming down her face.  
  
"Look, if we stop now, I'll have risked this for nothing. You'll have suffered for nothing."  
  
She pulled Anna's other arm towards her, and while she still felt a resistance, the girl wasn't actively fighting her anymore. She tried to work quickly, pinky first, but Anna collapsed to her feet as it was pulled out.  
  
"Get yourself together", Natasha hissed. "Regardless of what happened to Yelena, you'll never survive like this."  
  
Natasha did not bother to help her up, she merely pulled out the two next nails, but by this time Anna was sobbing frantically, and she pulled her arm against her belly, dirtying her undershirt with blood.  
  
She spit out the gag. "No more. No more, please."  
  
Natasha was having none of it. She didn't just risk disobeying their handlers just to fail at the endeavor. She pinned Ann down, and pulled out the last two nails. As she was removing the last one, Anna made loud noise even through the gag. Natasha's heart sank as she heard movement in the hallway. She dropped the pliers, and ducked into one of the stalls. She knew this one hair a ventilation shaft with an loose vent. She pulled it open and ducked into it, hoping she was quick enough for the noise not to be heard.  
  
She heard Teacher's footsteps as she came in, and tried to hold her breath.  
  
"Anna," Teacher said, "what are u doing here, girl?"  
  
"I'm sorry,"Anna whimpered. "I did not mean to scream. It was hard for me, but I'll do better next time."  
  
"You do that," Teacher's stern voice sounded, "you were the last to complete the task this time around."  
  
"I'm sorry,"Anna whimpered.  
  
"Don't be sorry, be better."  
  
Natasha could hear the scraping noise of the pliers being picked up by Teacher. Dammit, she thought. Now she'd lose a perfectly good tool because of someone else's stupidity.  
  
She heard Anna leave with Teacher, still sobbing quietly. She waited a long time - maybe an hour or so - to come out of hiding. At least she didn't get caught, but that favor better be worth it. _  
  
Natasha snapped back to reality, and looked at her nails with mild disdain. No-one would ever know that they had once been torn off just by looking at them - but she did, she could still picture it. Long or short, painted or natural, she could still tell how they were slightly different than before.  
  
No point in dwelling on it now, though. She was only stalling, letting her own memories scare her, and that would not do anyone good.

\---

She texted him with a time and place the next day, and his heart was beating in his chest uncontrollably at least five hours prior.  
  
He had already cleaned himself out once that morning, but he did so again before leaving, just to be sure. Steve was actually not thrilled about letting him go on his own, he knew, but he wanted Bucky to build up some autonomy, so he actually let him borrow his motorbike.  
  
When he arrived at the old warehouse, his legs were shaking under him, knowing that what would follow would not be pleasant. It reminded him of some of the places where he'd been kept - stored, even, like property - because that's what he had been.  
  
He followed the instruction, making his way down in the elevator, and every heartbeat felt unbearable now. He found himself before a closed door, and he remembered what she had said before, so he stripped himself naked, folded his clothes neatly and left them on the floor. He placed his boots next to them. He debated if he should leave his hair tied, but figured naked was naked, and he did not want to incite her wrath, so he pulled it loose. This would be unpleasant enough without added punishment.  
  
He knocked on the door, and pushed his arms behind his back, metal wrist held in his palm. His handlers had always wanted him to look non-threatening. Even if she was not really a handler, it was probably a good call.  
  
The door opened, and he bowed down his head, awaiting instructions.  
  
"Come in, James," she said, and he stepped forward. He dropped to his knees, legs apart like his handlers had liked it, head still bowed. He could hear her take a sharp intake of air, and wondered it that meant he was being good or bad.  
  
  
When he looked up he saw she had chosen to wear her black catsuit, and had a stray thought about really liking her hair, but he pushed it away, it felt inappropriate to think like that about his Mistress. She has on gloves and was holding a bamboo cane, and he felt it brush over his cheek, then move under his chin. He knew it would be painful if she chose to beat him with it.  
  
If she were anyone else, he might make a defiant remark now, a joke maybe - but this was a service, this was a kindness, he would not disrespect her.  
  
"Stay like this", she ordered.  
  
She crouched down next to him, and he was thinking this was wrong, she should not stoop to his level. She moved his hair to the side, tucking it behind his ear. It felt gentle for a moment, and he closed his eyes, letting it happen. It was small and meaningless and she probably didn't even think about it, but maybe that was enough to carry him through this.  
Soon he realized what she was doing. He had been too caught up in the moment to notice before, but there was a black collar tucked behind her belt, and she carefully fastened it around his neck. Her fingers touched his skin a few times as she did so, and that was nice, he could enjoy it without feeling guilty. He did not look at her as she fastened the strap, he did not know if he was allowed. Soon - too soon - she was done, and he dared to breathe again. The collar was tight, but not too much so, he could still breathe perfectly well. She was being generous.  
  
"Thank you, Mistress," he said.  
  
She patted him on the head in a way that would be patronizing in most situations, but it made him feel like he did well. That was always an advantage in these situations.  
  
"Come," she said and she nudged him with the cane. He had not been ordered to stand again, so he crawled after her, to where she was pointing. There was a bench next to one of the mirrors, and it had a collection of maybe 20 dildoes on it, arranged carefully in a row, going from small in size and girth, to intimidating, to absolutely terrifying.  
  
"Choose one you could accommodate comfortably," she ordered.  
  
The question was harder that she realized. In truth, he could accommodate _none_ comfortably. His body closed up quickly when there wasn't any regular fucking, and even her fingers had been a little painful, before. In the back of his mind there was a part of him, the part that remembered playing on Brooklyn streets, that hated _any_ penetration and wanted to punch anyone who even dared to suggest it.  
  
Her bamboo cane came down on his buttocks, not hard enough to actually be truly painful, but enough to get his attention.  
  
"Choose, or I will choose for you."  
  
He started to shake. He did not want her to pick one of the larger ones - even though he needed the pain, those might leave him bleeding for hours after, and he did not want to deal with that after this was done. He had bled for days on some occasions, after parties where he'd been use as release for the men. But then, he did not want to lie to her, either. The consequences for that could be far graver.  
  
"Please," he stammered, "clarify orders, Mistress."  
  
He braced for another stroke that never came.  
  
"Which part it unclear, James?"  
  
"Define 'accommodate comfortably'."  
  
"Are you saying none are comfortable, James?"  
  
"Correct, Mistress."  
  
"Get on all fours."  
  
He did and felt her move behind him.  
  
"Spread wider", she ordered, and he obeyed, precariously keeping his balance.  
  
He felt her pulling apart his ass-cheeks and he felt exposed and humiliated. He had taken the opportunity to look once there, with a mirror. His asshole did not quite look...normal. It was surrounded by a myriad of scars where he had been torn open, healed by the serum, the re-torn again. He knew that she could see it now that she was looking there, the evidence of a thousand or more cocks entering him there, and the idea made him have to fight back tears. She would see and she would know. He braced for an ugly remark that never came: _Well would you look at that, our boy here has been put to good use before. Let's not keep him waiting._  
The memory made his cock twitch, but he tried to push it away all the same, at the same moment that her thumb pushed _in_.  
  
"Ah!" he cried out, part surprise and part pain. She swatted his ass and he could feel himself clench around her.  
  
"Good boy," she said. "I feel how tight you are. You've been obedient and have not been playing with yourself, hm?". He was getting rapidly,shamefully hard. A deep, visceral part of him wanted to be obedient. Wanted to be good for her.  
  
"Of course, Mistress."  
  
She pulled out of him, and he had equal instinct to tell her to get away from him, and to beg her to please put it back in.  
  
"Pick one that will hurt as much as necessary, but not more than needed."  
  
That was an order he could work with. He crawled back to where the dildoes were aligned, and he picked the 5th from the smaller end. It was still generous, and he hoped she would not punish him for not picking something larger, but she did specify. He held it up, offering to her with his head bowed.  
  
"Very well," she said. "Come with me." She slowly walked to the intimidating-looking chair in the middle of the room. He crawled along, staying next to her leg. When they arrived she yanked his hair and pulled his head up. She held the back of the dildo - the suction cup- near his mouth.  
  
"Make it wet."  
  
He licked it as well as he could, while her fingers were still curled in his hair. He glanced up at her, trying to find approval in her eyes, but he couldn't read her. When she deemed he was done, she pulled it away, and stuck the suction cup to the chair, making the dildo stand upright and hard in the middle of it. He knew where this was going.  
  
"Kneel before it," she commanded, and he did.  
  
She felt him push something in his hand. It felt like a small bottle.  
  
"Lubricate it was much as necessary," she said.  
  
He looked at the bottle in his hand, but then put it neatly back on the ground without opening it, looking back up at her. Her look was questioning.  
  
"This is as much as is necessary, Mistress." Then he bowed his head again, both in shame and in fear of overstepping his boundaries.  
  
He swore he could hear something of a sigh. Did he displease her? "Very well then. I wish to see you suck it."  
  
That he could do. He remained kneeling, but pulled himself up on the armrest, aware of rattling the chains there. He took the dildo in his mouth and slacked open his jaw, letting it slide in. He bobbed his head up and down, taking it with skill and ease. He was hard against his own belly, and he was grateful for that. She knew how to give him what he needed.  
  
She grabbed him by the hair again, and forcefully pushed him all the way down in it, making him deep-throat the toy. He had bigger, but pushed down like this it still had him struggling for air and it brought tears to his eyes.  
  
"I knew you could do better , James."  
  
She pulled him off, leaving him gasping for air, then almost instantly pushed him down again.  
  
_Good. Don't fight it._  
  
She repeated this for several minutes, but it felt longer, until the lack of air made him giddy and the violation of it left him a horny mess. When she pulled him off the last time, he collapsed on the floor, face flushed and breath ragged, panting like a whore wanting more. The cane came down on his thigh and he flinched.  
  
"Get up," she told him. He barely could, but he tried.  
  
"Now sit on it."

He knew that this was coming, but he dreaded it all the same. This would hurt. This would show her the true nature of his depravity. But ultimately, it's what he came for. He positioned himself above the dildo, and felt its head poke at his rectum. If he lowered himself on it now, he'd be impaled on it.  
  
"Look at me," she ordered and he wanted to beg _no, please, don't look at me, don't watch my shame,_ but she had every right to watch, every right to order this. Her hand came up under his chin, more gentle than he had expected, and forced his face up.  
  
He still could not read her. Most handlers were amused when they did things like this. Or lustful. Or both. Her face looked mostly neutral, maybe with a hint of concentration. Perhaps he did not please her. Perhaps he was not capable of pleasing a woman, as he had suspected.  
  
He dug his fingers into the armrests of the chair, and slowly lowered himself, never breaking eye contact, not disobeying her order . The first intrusion burned, and he heard himself make a pathetic wounded noise as the head tore into him. After that, it was a bit easier, but every inch going down felt like violation, filling him up to serve his shameful needs. By the time it was fully in, he felt tears on his face, and she was still looking, and maybe that was more unbearable than the pain in his ass. He felt that his body was shaking, and he was sweating. He had to look like an ugly, dirty mess to her.  
  
Her hand moved away from his chin, and he wanted to protest the loss, bt it was not his place, and he did not blame her for not wanting to touch him.  
  
The cane struck his inner thigh and that made him twitch, losing control, and the dildo slid deeper still. This was it, this was as deep as it could go. It felt even harder than a real cock, and just as intrusive.  
  
"Up and down, James, you know the drill. I want to see you fuck yourself."  
  
This was a different torture altogether. He had to do this to himself. He had to show her what a slut he really was for it.  
  
"Yes, Mistress," he said, but he heard his own voice breaking. Pathetic, he thought.  
  
His leg muscles were strained from holding his weight, and he was grateful for the arm rests, but gravity was not in his favor here. He started moving up and down, the last few inches down always being hardest, most painful, but he could do this. He'd done far worse. He could taste his own tears now, and he reprimanded himself for going so soft lately, since he was free. The Soldier could take fifty cocks in one night. The Soldier could have a baseball bat shoved up there without lubrication and say _thank you_ , and he was whimpering about taking a _moderately sized_ sex toy. He had to get it together, or all this would be for nothing. He focused on the filling burn inside him, on how it made him hard. He must have closed his eyes, because he felt a hard smack on his face.  
  
_Your work has been a gift to mankind._ No, not that memory, not him now.  
  
"James, where did you go just now?" she asked.  
  
"Pierce," he admitted shamefully. Her fingers dug into his hair again, pulling painfully.  
  
"Hmm, you were a whore for him, were you?"  
  
He nodded pathetically.  
  
"Show me how you take cock like one, then."  
  
There was no point in resisting this. The only thing he was resisting was himself. He fucked himself on the chair, wanton and greedy for it, the toy giving him pleasure with his pain. It lasted minutes - long minutes - and she never took her eyes off him.  
  
"Tell me how that feels, James."  
  
She couldn't be serious. she couldn't really want to know. It was humiliating enough as it was. But he'd obey, of course, if she wanted.  
  
"I'm being torn open, Mistress. It hurts. It burns. I'm ashamed you can see me like this." He wanted to bow his head, but remembered he was not allowed, so he kept looking at her with tearful eyes.  
  
"I'm going to fuck you, James. I'm going to fuck you hard," she said. "And you're going to beg me to do it."  
  
"Yes, Mistress. Please, Mistress. Please hurt me. Please rape me. I need it."  
  
Another slap to his face knocked the breath out of him.  
  
"Damn right you do."  
  
She moved back to where the dildoes were lined up. "What do you think, James. One size bigger..." She touched the one with her fingers, then moved to another. "...or two?"  
  
"Two", he choked out as he continued impaling himself. He hated this, but the horniness was taking over, driving him to be desperate. He needed it all, all she had to give. No point in fighting it, she already knew how pathetic he was. If she'd offer five sizes up he'd say yes all the same. He didn't care anymore if it would still hurt tomorrow, or the day after. He just needed her to fuck him.  
  
She slid her legs through a leather harness, and attached the larger dildo at the front. She was still wearing her catsuit, and he suddenly though that was wrong, that there should not be clothes between them - that she should take pleasure from this. But maybe she did not want to be naked with him, to defile herself like that - he understood.  
  
The toy looked large and menacing on her, making him clench around the toy already inside him. She walked back, and even without warning, or without order, she shoved the dildo in his mouth. She grabbed the back of his head with one hand, for leverage, and placed her other hand on his throat, feeling how deep the dildo was lodged inside under the collar there. It stayed in like that for a long time, and the lack of oxygen made it hard to think.  
  
He wanted this to end. No, he wanted to please her. No, he wanted to come. No, he needed her to fuck him so hard he'd bleed for days.  
  
He started breathing thought his nose frantically, and she must have heard that, because she loosened her grip now, fucking into his mouth. He struggled for air with every thrust, but there was something peaceful about being used like this. He did not have to think, he did not have to choose- he merely had to submit and obey. When she did finally pull out, he felt empty and naked.  
  
"Get up," she ordered, and as he did the dildo on the chair pulled out of him with a squelch. His ass, too, felt empty now, but he was more sore than he had realized. Out of practice, as he thought. She had not ordered him to lower his gaze, so he looked at her, and he thought he saw a flicker of fear behind that calm composure. He moved his hands behind his back, making sure she saw it - the Winter Soldier was no threat to her, she could use him any way she pleased. Something did change in her face, but he wasn't sure it was for the better.  
  
"Ass up, face down," she ordered.  
  
He knelt down on the cool floor, crossed his arms, and rested his cheek on it. His ass remained pushed up - as it had many times, ready for use, convenient for easy access.  
  
"Spread wider, I want to see your hole."  
  
He had deliberately placed himself in a position where it was less visible, knowing it would look loose and used now, on top of being scarred and deformed. She knew his humiliation, and she would not let him get away with it, she'd make him expose it all before this was done. The thought made him want to bury himself into the ground, but it also kept him rock-hard. He pushed his legs apart, making sure she had a good view. He could no longer see her, but he hoped she'd be pleased, at least.  
  
He heard a swish, and her bamboo cane came down on his buttocks, hard. It made him cry out, more from initial shock than from actual pain, but before he even recovered the cane impacted his skin again and again. She was no longer using it as a tool to guide him, but to hurt him proper. He was panting and his cock was leaking precum. Suddenly, without warning, the cane hit him right on his hole, and he howled like a wounded animal, legs collapsing under him.  
  
"Get back up," she said flatly, 'I'm going to get you nice and tender before I fuck you."  
  
"No, no, no...please no," he begged.  
  
"Are you calling red, James?" he heard her ask, half in a daze.  
  
No, he thought. She couldn't stop. He could not let her. They were so close - _he_ was so close. The need in his loins was unbearable. All he could think about was the final release.  
  
"No, Mistress," he said, and he crawled back up.  
  
"Hold yourself open for me."  
  
He reached for his ass with trembling hands - well, at least one was - and he held open the cheeks for her. The cane came down straight on his asshole again, expertly missing his fingers. He howled again, but this time he managed to stay in position.  
  
"Good boy," she said, and she hit him there again - one more, two more, ten more, until he was crying and choking on his sobs like a child. His ass burned and the rest of him felt unreal, like it wasn't his body at all, like he felt when he was lying out in the snow, thinking he was going to die.  
  
The beating stopped and he felt the warmth of her behind him. She grabbed his hips, and when she fucked into his beaten hole without warning, it felt like he was being penetrated by a hot poker. It was big - too big, and he felt something tear inside him. He screamed through his tears, but knew that would not stop her. This was how it should be. He was finally getting what he needed.  
  
She was good. Not even most Hydra agents were this proficient at dealing out pain and humiliation. Her fucking was grounding him, and he was returning to himself, desperate and horny, craving every inch that tore him open, every punishment she might dish out. He moved his hands back in front of him, biting his flesh hand to stop himself from biting his tongue. He was aware of his knees chafing on the floor and of something warm and wet - probably blood - was making its way down his thighs. His mind was still in an almost dream-like state, obedient and pliable, and his half glazed-over eyes noticed drapes on the other end of the room. They were covering a mirror, he realized, but a small part had slid off, and he could see part of his reflection - the wet face with red eyes, outlined by sweaty strands of hair, being pushed forward with every brutal thrust. He only saw part of her - but she looked strong and determined holding him by the hips, the rhythm unwavering. At first he closed his eyes, not wanting to see. But only seconds later, he felt compelled to open them again, and watch his own degradation. He remembered a thousand hands, a thousand cocks - touching, hurting, forcing their way in.  
  
"Please," he begged between sobs. "Show me what I'm good for."  
  
He arched his back and pushed back, making sure the full length of the strapon would go in. She grunted and thrust into him hard, over and over, and he was still sobbing as she did so. Then slender fingers closed around his cock, tightly grabbing the shaft. He gasped, he didn't even see it coming. She never stopped thrusting as she worked him with her hand. He was close, so desperately close, excruciating pain and endless pleasure flooding him side-by-side  
  
"Permission to.." he started, but it was too late, much too late, because he came all over her hand before he could even finish the sentence. The sensation was almost unbearable, and he whimpered through his orgasm, letting the waves of it flow through him - his short, desperate reward for all he had been through.  
  
Just as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone, and he returned to an unpleasant clarity. She was still inside him and it felt disgusting and _wrong_ and _no no no_ and _out out out._.  
  
"Get _off_ me," he shouted, and pulled himself free. He ducked and turned to face her, metal arm battle-ready to both protect and destroy. She, too, moved away in a fraction of a second, holding her arms in a protective stance. He made no mistake, though, those could just as fast be on his neck. She was still wearing the dildo, and it was equally absurd and menacing in this situation.  
  
"Bucky," she finally spoke. "Bucky, it's okay. Look, I'm not touching you. You're good."  
  
He let out a desperate breath, feeling on the verge of hyperventilation. He quickly moved his arms back behind his back, kneeling with legs spread open, head bowed.  
  
"I am so sorry, Mistress. Please feel free to punish me as you wish."  
  
He heard her let out a breath and when he carefully looked up. He saw he sitting down on the floor, panting. Her muscles were relaxed now, no longer in fighting mode. She slid the strapon down her legs and tossed it aside.  
  
"I think that's quite enough for one day."  
  
He could see now that she too was flushed and sweaty, but she still managed to be more beautiful than ever. He felt strangely relaxed, like an extreme version of how he'd feel after a heavy physical workout. And these was something else there - something small and scared, needy for affection. He wanted put his head on her lap, and beg her to forgive him until she would grant him a small mercy - a pat, maybe, a few second of petting his hair. He should not think of such things, certainly not now. Though, maybe, if he was clever...maybe he could get something.  
  
He looked at her hand, still streaked with his semen. Any other handler would have punished him for sullying them, but she did not know those rules, he could use that to his advantage.  
  
"I should clean that up," he said. "Please, it's not proper."  
  
She looked confused, but he crawled over, making himself small when he knelt in front of her.  
  
He looked at her hand, then over to her face for permission.  
  
"You really don't have to do that."  
  
"I should. Please."  
  
She shrugged and  _ah, she fell for it_. He carefully took her wrist in his right hand and brought her hand to his lips, carefully licking off the stains of his own cum. Her skin was so very soft.  
  
"Oh," she let out, and he felt her tense up. He stopped. "I didn't know you meant with...never mind, go on." He was quick about it, and efficient. He had pushed his luck enough already. He was gentle, too, though - how could he be not be, with someone who did so much for him? She relaxed again under his lips - and when he was done he felt almost guilty, stealing touches from her. But she did not know - they could both pretend it was something else.  
  
When he pulled away, all he could see was confusion. He kneeled again, and she got up. She returned with a bathrobe and a few towels - neatly folded - which she put down in front of him. On top of the pile was a tube of the healing ointment she had given him before.  
  
When she spoke again, there was something in her voice he could not place. "You do what you need to do. Take as long as you like. I shouldn't have hit you anywhere you can't reach, but if you need help..."  
  
He slid his fingers between the fabric of the towels, and they were soft, so very soft.  
  
"Thank you, " he said, still on his knees."You didn't have to..."  
  
She pushed some of her sweaty hair back. "Yeah, I did, actually. There's a shower, if you want. Or you can go home. Or _I_ can go home. Whatever you want."  
  
This was strange, and unsettling. She had been so in control just a few moment before - and yes, he knew, when it was over they went back to being Bucky and Natasha, but still he couldn't help but feel like he did something wrong.She seemed to have been at ease before, and now she couldn't wait to create distance. Not that he blamed her.  
  
He wrapped the soft bathrobe around him, feeling better being less exposed in front of her. He pressed the towels against his chest, like they could hug him back, like they could protect him from his intangible feeling of dread.  
  
He backed away into the shower, feeling almost like he was retreating from battle.

\---

Natasha felt sweaty and uncomfortable, but she was one shower short of actually doing something about it. Intruding on him was not an option - he deserved his privacy. When she heard the start of water running, she deemed it safe to take off her clothes. She was soaked to her underwear, so that went, too. The sink was a small mercy, and she turned on the water. The liquid felt cool against her feverish skin.  
  
She cleaned herself best as she could under the circumstances. Her hair still felt uncomfortably moist, even after she tried rubbing it with a towel. She was grateful that she had made the call to bring spare clothes, at least. It was nothing fancy - just a plain black tank top and equally dark yoga pants, but it made her feel a little bit more like a regular human being.  
  
Bucky was taking his time with the shower, and that was okay, at this point she'd just wait until she got home. She went out and picked up his neatly folded clothing and his boots, and placed them in front of the bathroom door. She liked the scent of them. While he looked a bit scruffy half of the time, he smelled of old-timey soap, musk and maple syrup...and for a moment she wondered if he was binging on sweets now that no-one was stopping him, and she decided to make a mental note of it.  
  
She felt restless, and at the same time annoyed at her own restlessness. Things had gone well, considering. He had gotten off. Neither of them suffered any real damage. They had still managed to talk as adults and out of the scene after. And yet, something did not sit quite right with her, but she could not put her finger on it.  
  
As she waited for him to finish, she cleaned the used toys, and threw them into the duffel bag that had previously housed her spare clothes. She threw in the unused toys and her catsuit, too - she'd sort those later.  
  
It was almost by accident that she ended up looking at the spot where she had fucked Barnes just a few minutes ago. While fading already, she could still see the wetness on the floor - the sweat where his knees and elbow had been planted, the stain of tears where his cheek had pressed against the ground. And maybe there was something else, too - a memory of a smell, she though, but before she was even aware her mind jumped to another place, another time.  
  
_Her hand was clutched tightly - too tightly - around a handgun, and her finger was teasing the trigger. She was fifteen, maybe sixteen, but she felt younger in this very moment.  
  
The boy was lying on the floor, hands held up in a defensive gesture. Blond curls were falling in front of his tear-stricken face. He looked genuinely terrified.  
  
"Pozhaluysta," he begged, "ya khochu zhit'".  
  
She could not see the man standing behind her, but she could feel his presence. He was tall enough to loom over her. He had been introduced to her as Mikhail a few days ago, but he spoke with an impeccable American accent and called himself Michael when referring to himself. Teacher seemed to know him, but Natasha could not remember seeing him before. A spy - she was almost sure of it.  
  
She had not cared for him from the moment she had seen him, long before he had brought her here and put a gun in her hands.  
  
"Pull the trigger", he ordered, for the second time. "You are an assassin."  
  
"No," she said, but she kept her eyes on the boy, and the finger on the trigger.  
  
"No?" Mikhail asked, and she could hear him stepping closer. If he'd take one more step, she would be able to feel him breathing down her neck.  
  
"I am not what you say," she said. In her emotional state, her Russian accent was more prominent. "I have not taken a life yet."  
  
"If you do not, you are worthless. It is your only purpose. Refuse, and you are worth nothing."  
  
Time seemed to slow, the world seemed to shrink in on itself. In a moment that was almost like a vision she could see all her potential tomorrows and the bullets she'd have to fire to buy herself one more day. She could imagine the smiles, both real and fake. She could see before her all the places she might travel to, from the frozen plains of Siberia to the Egyptian desert, and she decided to give them up. Some would have called it insanity, but to her it was clarity.  
  
"So be it," she said, and lowered the gun.  
  
As she turned to face Mikhail, a another gun cocked and was pressed to her temple. "You would die for a stranger?" he asked with disdain in his voice. "Has our training taught you nothing?"  
  
That, of course, was not entirely true.  
  
It was her training that made her move by instinct, at almost superhuman speed, taking even the old spy by surprise. She removed the gun from his clutch with one hand, and raised the one she was holding with the other. Before she even fully realized it, Natasha had emptied both weapons into Mikhail's chest. He crashed to the floor, back first. He twitched for a few seconds, but then life drained from him fully.  
  
There was a sound behind her, and it took her a few seconds to even realize what it was.  
  
Clapping.  
  
As she turned, she could see Teacher standing in the dim light.  
  
"That was an interesting show."  
  
"I do not understand," Natasha said. "I did not obey."  
  
"True, that will need work. But you are an assassin. Congratulations on your first kill, Natasha."  
  
She dropped both guns and they clattered to the floor.  
  
"I will accept punishment," she stammered. "I will accept death."  
  
"Death would be a waste of your potential."  
  
"He was your friend," Natasha protested, still thinking this must be a trick being played on her.  
  
Teacher moved closer, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mikhail was a bastard, child. A familiar bastard, that is true, but death was overdue for him."  
  
"I do not understand," she said again, and Teacher breathed in impatiently.  
  
"Very well, child. This is today's lesson: There are more ways than one to pass a test, there are several solutions to a problem. Do you understand now?"  
  
Natasha nodded, even though she was not quite sure that she did.  
  
"What will happen to the boy?" she asked.  
  
"Whatever you want," Teacher said. "His life is yours now." And with that, Teacher left. _  
  
Natasha snapped out of the memory as the bathroom door opened, and Bucky emerged in the bathrobe. His hair was still wet, but he looked quite relaxed now and he flashed her a gentle smile. He spotted his clothes on the floor, and picked them up, drawing them to his chest.  
  
"Thank you for being so kind," he said to her, and she wanted to refute it, saying she wasn't nearly as kind as he deemed her to be, but she could not find the strength.  
  
A few minutes later he re-emerged, properly dressed, as if nothing had ever happened, as if she had never laid a hand on him.  
  
He kept his distance, seemingly sensing her unease. He made a few steps towards the door, then stopped, fidgeting with his fingers. "I was wondering....do we do this again?" he asked.  
  
Without another word, she took out her notebook and handed it to him. He turned the pages, then placed his metal thumb on a day he seemed to like.  
  
"Two weeks from now? Is that good? he asked.  
  
She nodded and he scribbled down his initials.  
  
Christ, how had she ever thought this would be easy? His writing in her notebook made her anxious - her promise weighing heavy on her chest, a half-baked plan she could not turn back on now.  
  
"Drive safely," she called to him as he left, and it felt silly and mundane, but it was all she could think of. With his build, he could probably survive a dozen car accidents. And yet, she really did feel an inexplicable concern for his safety.  
  
Be kind to yourself, Bucky Barnes," she whispered, but he never heard.

\---

Bucky Barnes stood in front of the bathroom mirror with his buttcheeks spread open and inspected his own ass. There were still welts on it from the bamboo cane. The tender flesh around his hole looked swollen and wounded, and even his sphincter was an angry red. His hole looked more open than usual, though he doubted anyone besides him could tell, and he knew he'd be tight again soon enough - ready to be torn open all over again. He could spot two new tears there now, already itchy and healing. They would soon be indistinguishable from the other small scars there, and there was something pleasing a about that, knowing that two of them were now _hers_ and that she had made those with his permission. He wondered if one day new scars could cover the old, so there would be nothing left of them, if she fucked him often enough. Then he pushed away that thought, finding it presumptuous. She had not even looked like she had enjoyed it much when she fucked him. She had agreed to do it again, yes, but there was still no guarantee she'd use him regularly.  
  
She had not withdraw her order not to touch himself, so he did not, but she did give him the ointment to use, and that allowed him to cheat on that rule just a little bit. He squeezed some of it in the palm of his right hand, and rubbed it over the welts on his buttocks. It was instantly soothing and cool. He suspected there was something in the mix that numbed the pain, because soon he could only feel the echo of a sting. When he was done with that, he coated his first and middle finger in the stuff, and tentatively pushed them inside. He still felt himself jerk at the intrusion. It was strange, really, he had learned to hold still at far greater abuse - and had done so for decades. Why then was it so difficult now? He pressed his forehead again the cool tiles of the bathroom wall and bit his lip. Moving his fingers inside himself resulted in a mix of pain, relief, shame and arousal, all at the same time.  
  
He did not want this. He did not want any of this. Remembering what he had done today sent pangs of anxiety through his chest, making his heart stop for a beat at the memory of begging to be used. Sometimes he desperately longed for the time where his memories were blissfully missing. He had fought so hard for them to return, for him to claim them as his own. But now that he had them, he was ashamed to admit he liked it better when they were gone. They were nestled in his mind, always there, always waiting to intrude on him, making his hand a little less steady, making his eyes a little wetter.  
  
He wanted to call her right now and ask her to put an end to this. But if he did that, where would he turn? Bucky knew that he felt like this _now_ \- but give it a week, two at most, he'd be groveling at the feet of whoever was willing.  
  
Even now, just after the one time, he found the thought of having to go back to random strangers terrible. He didn't even quite know why, but the though felt like a betrayal to himself, and to her. As if giving up on this this was the one thing he could do to be an even bigger failure.  
  
"Be reasonable", he though to himself, "you have a good deal going. Don't ruin it because you get all emotional after getting fucked now. It will pass, as it always has".  
  
He withdrew his fingers, and already his ass felt less painful. He might still feel a twinge of pain if he tried to sit today, but he knew that combined with his fast healing it would be gone by tomorrow.  
  
"That's a shame", an unwanted part of his brain interjected, "it would be hot being reminded of being fucked by her".  
  
"Shut up," he said out loud, to the the blank bathroom wall. He opened his eyes ans splashed water on this face. He would go for a run. That would take care of this nonsense.  
  
He would wait and see how it would go next week. He could still re-evaluate then. Yes, he could be sensible about this.  
  
When took out his sweatpants and put them on to go for that run, he willfully ignored the fact that he was still half-hard. It would go away. "Can't have impure thoughts if you're too tired," his mother had once said. On some level, he knew that was mostly nonsense, but just for today, he would go for some 1930's wisdom. This new world he had found freedom in, was terribly confusing.


	9. The Rules of Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there might be plot to go with your smut, and people have sex they hate. Extra warning for victim blaming .

"Abso-fucking-lutely _not_!" Tony waved with his hands exuberantly to add gravity to his words.  
  
"He's basically on the team anyway," Steve protested.  
  
"No...no no no. Having him run a few covert missions is _not_ the same as strapping a star on his chest and putting a big 'A' on his shoulder."  
  
"He can be trusted," Steve said, trying to be very calm but clearly boiling on the inside.  
  
"That is not the point. My God, do you people never look outside the window? Turn on the TV? He's an ex-assassin!"  
  
"So am I," Natasha interrupted as she scraped her throat. Suddenly she felt all eyes on her. "Just saying," she added. It was the first time had spoken during this meeting and she was _really_ not in the mood for this.  
  
"That's different. And that was a PR disaster as it was."  
  
"I'm a PR disaster," Wanda interjected. Natasha could see her looking at her with insecure eyes, as if looking for approval. _Interesting_ , she thought. Had she sensed that Natasha was trying to steer the conversation? Clever girl.  
  
Tony was trying to contain his frustration, and failing. "Oh great, what is this? The new Soviet block?"  
  
Natasha was getting tired of this. She could think of better ways to spend her time. Besides, this meeting quite unfortunately coincided with the day Bucky had picked for a scene and she wanted to prepare for it. "Really, Tony? We're playing it like that? What are you - five?"  
  
"Okaaay, maybe we should all calm down," Sam said.  
  
"I believe this is a wise course of action," Vision agreed. "While I find Mr. Stark's tone..jarring, the concerns he raises are genuine.  
  
"Finally, a voice of reason," Rhodey huffed out. He had not spoken much during the meeting, but his frustration seemed close to matching Tony's now.  
  
"Not everything in life is decided by reason," Wanda said. Her eyes searched Vision's - a little too long - confirming something Natasha had suspected for a while now.  
  
Tony made another irritated hand movement. "Yes, let's all hold hands and sing kumbaya while the assassin stabs us in the back."  
  
"Oh, come _on_ , Steve cried out.  
  
"Perhaps that was not the most fortunate choice of words," Vision commented.  
  
"Okay, I'm stopping this before it escalates," Sam said. "Let's all take 20 and vote on this when we get back."  
  
Natasha sighed. No was this was going to end well. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. If half the team was against this, and it would divide them - perhaps it was better to vote _no_.

 

\---

 

Natasha was feeling slightly annoyed later that day when was standing before her - naked except for the collar, arms folder behind his back, eyes cast down. It bothered her that she noticed how long his eyelashes were, that her eyes were drawn to the shapely muscles that ran from his chest to his belly. She disliked how much she found the curve of his mouth to be pleasing - especially as it was still curled into the ghost of a smile, one she would soon wipe away.  
  
The tools she wore on her belt - a few dildos, a stun baton, a knife - should have made her feel more confident, but they felt like burdens now. In her mind she had imagined some sort of female Indiana Jones with sex toys, but in reality there was something sad about it.  
  
She didn't want to be here, not now, not like this.  
  
He shuffled his feet and did not look up, but she could tell he wanted to.  
  
"I'm sorry if this is out of line, Mistress, but I know you were making a decision today..."  
  
There it was. The thing she'd been hoping to avoid.  
  
"And you wanted to know if we thought we had it in you to be an Avenger..."  
  
He nodded almost shamefully.  
  
She hated this, but she could use it to her advantage. _Observe your surrounding. Assess the situation. Exploit weaknesses._  
  
It was easy. Too easy.  
  
She twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled his head back so she could see his face. He stood taller than her by quite a few inches, but with the look he gave her, he might as well have been 3 foot tall. She realized he was genuinely scared...and ashamed.  
  
Natasha kicked the back of his knees and he buckled without resistance, landing on his knees at her feet. Her fingers never left his hair, and she could see him wince at it being pulled as he went down.  
  
"Think you're good enough, James?" she asked him. He did not reply.  
  
She backhanded him, hard. "I asked you a question."  
  
"Yes," he hissed defiantly, looking up at her, bracing for another hit. "Yes I am." And honestly, she wanted to laugh. Tell him how he was doing a good job of not simply lying down and taking it. But she wasn't here for that.  
  
"Think Hydra's whore is going to make a good addition to our team?"  
  
"You know that's not what I am anymore." He looked up at her, genuinely angry, like he was going to pounce her. She hated to admit it to herself, but she found the danger of it exciting. All the little hairs on her body tingled, preparing for an attack that never came.  
  
"Really? Could have fooled me."  
  
She crouched down like a predator and put her hand on his half-erection. Only when she did, she realized it felt like too much, too close, too forward. He was looking straight at her, like if it was a dare, and she could feel his ragged breath on her own lips.  
  
"I am  _not_ Hydra's," he spat, and she didn't miss the omission of the word _whore_.  
  
"So why are you hard?"  
  
She stared right back at him - calling his bluff, if that was what it was at all.  
  
"Cause for better or for worse, I'm _yours_ now...Na... _Mistress_." He said the title with disdain, and this was not something she had prepared for. She knew from the Max incident he didn't quite take this willingly, but she was only yet learning the rules of engagement.  
  
"Mine? So if we'd run into your Hydra pals, you'd obey me over them?"  
  
"Yes," he said simply, and that truly surprised her, because it did not sound like a lie.  
  
"And if they'd pull off your pants and bent you over, junior here wouldn't react?"  
  
"I didn't...I didn't say that."  
  
In this position, he could easily kiss or kill her - but he didn't seem to want to do the former,and she wasn't sure she could defend herself against the latter. After a few seconds he made a pained noise and lowered his gaze. Something about his surrender made her windpipe feel like it was being crushed, like she'd have preferred an attack over this.  
  
"It's not my fault," he whispered pitifully, "I hate how my body betrays me."  
  
_Ah, she could work with that._  
  
"Think it would make a difference to the enemy, if they'd capture you? That they'd care about your personal trauma?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
And God, she knew it was unfair, she knew he couldn't help it - but, the humiliation was part of it, wasn't it? He looked so very defeated though, that she was doubting how far she was willing to go here.  
  
She placed her hand under his chin, and forced him to look up at her again.  
  
He was still hard under her touch. Her hand fisted his cock hard enough to bruise.  
  
"You wanted to look, so look," she said.  
  
She grabbed the zipper of her catsuit, revealing much - too much - of her breasts, leaving the garment open down to her bellybutton. He was looking in a way she'd describe as admiring - and he was still semi-erect, but there was no reaction there, no change.  
  
"You say you're mine, but you'd prefer any random cock over this." She felt his reaction to that in her hand immediately. And this was it, the thing that broke him. He was silent now, but his eyes started pooling with tears, and he stared at her in a way that slammed the feeling of guilt into her chest at full force.  
  
He laid back down on his back, defeated, and placed his arm over his eyes to hide his tears. She decided to let him have that. Without her even needing to ask, he parted his legs, so she'd have access to whatever she wanted.  
  
She pulled a latex glove from her pocket, and she could swear she could see a shiver running through him at the sound of it being pulled on. She wetted her first and middle finger in her own mouth, pushed apart his knees a little bit more before finding his hole. As she pushed in she was met with resistance - he was just as tight, if not tighter than last time. His body reacted to the intrusion, making him tighten around her even more.  
  
"You weren't kidding about healing back up," she said.  
  
He removed his arm from his face, but he deliberately looked away from her.  
  
"Always fun at Hydra parties," he replied bitterly.  
  
This...wasn't how it was meant to be. Everything was bleeding over already. That was Bucky talking, pure and unfiltered.  
  
"What's your color?" she asked.  
  
"Green. Bright green," he scoffed. "What, you really think two fingers inside me comes anywhere near awful in my experience? Just fuck me already." He sounded bashful, but he still wouldn't meet her eyes.  
  
She curled her fingers up against his prostate, and he let out an unwilling moan, his body reacting the the physical sensation.  
  
This was how it was supposed to go...but then, why were there alarm bells ringing in her head?  
  
She pulled the fingers out, and took one dildo from her belt - the one she had fucked him with last time. She fastened it to the harness that was already secured to her body, adjusting the straps. The fabric of her catsuit felt safe between her skin and the contraption, and she was grateful for that small amount of privacy, even in this most intimate of moments.  
  
Bucky - or James, she wasn't sure - did not have that luxury, being exposed to her mercilessly.  
  
She slapped the inside of his thigh with a flat hand. "Spread wider."  
  
He did without resistance, but she pushed the legs open more for good measure.  
  
"That's a good slut,' she said. "I can see your hole now. Think I didn't see those scars before, James? I know how much cock has been in there. You can't hide from me."  
  
A pitiful whimper escaped from his lips.  
  
She climbed between his legs, positioning herself to fuck him. Placing an arm on each side of him, she was very aware that she was trapping him on the floor like this. The tip of the dildo found its way to his ass, and pressed against his sphincter, impatient to get in.  
  
"I'm going to fuck you dry, James. What do you say about that?"  
  
"A good slut like me can take it," he replied, but he still would not face her when she spoke.  
  
She thrust in, but his body wouldn't let her enter easily,and she really had to force it in. He cried out at the initial penetration, but then she could see him biting into his flesh-and-blood hand, and he was silent as his tears finally fell.  
  
When she was all the way up to the hilt, his eyes did flash up at her, wet and soul-piercing, and she almost thought he'd say something, but then he turned his head to the side again.  
  
She recalled a time when she was milking a millionaire weapons dealer for info - quite literally, with her fingers poking his prostate - and how much he had whimpered : _please darling, more darling, it's so good, harder..._."  
  
This was not like that at all. As she moved in and out of him, his body pinned under her, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Even his gaze was distant, and she could only wonder where his thoughts went now. His body was still resisting and he was crying silent tears, looking more and more distressed with every trust. This really did feel like rape. Like it was not much different that what had been done to him before. But, maybe that was the point.  
  
She could see he had started sucking on his thumb while she was fucking him open and she wondered if it was for comfort, or if he was really just imagining another cock there.  
  
After maybe five minutes of fucking most resistance was gone. She realized this session might leave him with another scar or two, and it made her heart clench.  
  
"I need...." he said after a few more minutes, and she stopped moving. "You need to hurt me a bit more. It won't work like this."

She had hoped it would not come to this, but she had come prepared. She pulled out of him, but stayed kneeling between his legs, his body spread open before her. She took the stun baton from her belt and she could see him flinch involuntarily. It was no secret they had tortured him with it. He had even said as much to Steve, though he had kept the sexual bits out.  
  
Natasha turned the device on and the electricity whirred. She teased one of his nipples with it, and his whole body convulsed at the pain and the current. Then the second nipple - he was prepared for the feeling now, so he spasmed less, but he couldn't stop the involuntary reaction.  
  
She turned off the electricity and ran the baton along the hard shaft of his cock. He looked terrified now, knowing the inevitable outcome. When she pushed the button he screamed as the current ran through his genitals, and he bit his hand hard enough to draw blood. Natasha turned the baton back off, and took another dildo from her belt. She pulled his hand away from his mouth, inspecting the damage. It didn't look too serious, but there was no need to have him leave marks.  
  
"Here, bite on this," she said as she held the dildo in front of his mouth, and he took the whole toy .  
  
She turned the baton back on, and his screams were muffled by the phallus in his mouth. She turned the electricity on and off a few times, repeating the process. She almost expected him to grow soft, but he only seemed more erect, precum leaking as his cock took the abuse. She moved the baton down to his balls and he retched against the dildo as she did so, as if he was going to throw up.  
  
Then, finally, she turned it off, took her attention off his genitals and pressed the baton between his buttcheeks. His eyes flicked back to her, looking positively terrified, but he nodded briefly.  
  
The baton went in with less resistance that her dildo had before - his hole fucked open and ready for penetration now. When she pushed the button this time, he wailed in pain, legs thrashing so she had to use her reflexes not to get kicked. She supposed that that was why some people went for the tying up thing - but for now, she was glad she could get information from his natural reactions.  
  
Natasha switched it off again, just fucking him with it, in and out. There was more resistance again now, and she guessed that had been part of the point of using it on him: to make him tighter. Well, that and plain old sadism.  
  
The baton had streaks of blood on it by now, but she had come to realize this was part of the thing for him - he was right where he needed to be.  
  
She alternated between just fucking him with it, and turning on the electricity briefly. It was a dance of thrashing and composing himself again, of crying out and swallowing sobs, until she saw he was reaching exhaustion, even the pain drawing less reactions from him.  
  
She tossed the baton aside, settled back between his legs and thrust back into him. When she did he reached for her face, almost on instinct. She braced for a slap, but it was merely a soft touch.  
  
He was looking at her again now, and for a fraction of a second there was something she could not read in those eyes, until he seemed to realize what he was doing and his look turned to horror, his hand drawing away like her skin had burned him.  
  
She fucked him for a few more minutes, her hand on his cock, masturbating him until he was right on the edge. He was looking away from her again, sucking on the dildo half-heartedly. It didn't take long now - he was hurting and spent, and she could feel him writhing under her.  
  
"Hey, it's okay,"she said. "You can come now if you need to."  
  
He did, almost instantly, and she wondered if she should have said that sooner. She was still learning.  
  
Right after his orgasm she pulled out as fast as she could, remembering the lesson from the previous time.  
  
He spit out the dildo, breathing in deeply a few times. She got up, loosened the straps of the contraption around her hips, and let it slide to the floor.  
  
The bathrobe she had for him was already waiting, neatly folder by her before he had even stepped into the room. She offered it to him and he pulled it over himself, shielding his naked body from her eyes.  
  
"I'll leave you to it. However long you'll need. "I'll be by the elevator if you need me."  
  
She turned to leave, but she heard him scraping his throat.  
  
"I would have had your back, you know," he whispered.  
  
"What?" she asked, confused.  
  
"If I'd have become an Avenger," he said. "I'd have had your back."  
  
It damn well nearly broke her heart, and she made a mental note not to try and use real-life elements for scenes anymore.  
  
"About that," she said, as she walked to where his clothes were folded, and stuck her hand into one of the pockets, pulling his phone out. "You should really learn to check your missed messages. It can be useful."  
  
She took the phone back to him, and knelt down on the floor beside him, careful not to touch. He scrambled to sit up, still holding the bathrobe protectively against his body.  
  
"Can I?" she asked, because she did not wish to violate his privacy more by going through his phone.  
  
He nodded and she found the missed message, choosing the option to play it, holding it close to his ear, but far enough not to actually make physical contact. She could not make out the words, but she didn't need to. She had been with Steve when he had made the call.  
  
_Hey Buck, so I really wanted to tell you in person, but forgive me I was really excited to tell you. You made it. Vote was 4 to 3, so...congrats, Avenger. I'll ask Thor for whatever that stuff is we can get drunk on to celebrate, okay? You have a good day. And call me._  
  
She could see the look of amazement on his face as it sank in what it meant - and she could see a whole different type of tears in his eyes - those of joy.  
  
She couldn't help but smile widely. "Welcome to our band of misfits."  
  
He looked like he was about to hyperventilate. "Four votes for," he said and she could see the realization form in his head. "Tony would have voted against me, and Rhodes would have followed his cue. Steve would vote for, as would Sam. Wanda would vote for or abstain, but no one abstained so...the swing vote was either Vision...or you." He looked up at her, searching her face for reactions. This was one thing she couldn't hide. She felt the smile on her own face widen. She was happy she could give him something good.  
  
"It _was_ you, then."  
  
"Of course it was, silly."  
  
His fingers dug into the fabric of the bathrobe.  
  
"But you know what I am..."  
  
"Yeah, I do. You're a valuable addition to this team, that's what you are. And oh..." She scrambled back up and headed for the curtains on the mirrors. She had hidden a box there before they had started.  
  
"This is for you."  
  
She put the box down before Bucky and he opened the lid, still looking at her with distrust.  
  
Inside there was a uniform, similar to Steve's, but black at the bottom and blue at the top. It did have a white star on the chest, though. His fingers touched it tentatively.  
  
"We added that mostly to annoy Tony, she said as she nodded towards the star. It might not fit perfectly yet, but we can adjust it."  
  
  
He took it out , letting go of the bathrobe, and holding the uniform to his body like a child would hold a long-lost favorite toy that had been retrieved. He all but cradled it as he started weeping, and she hadn't quite expected this, but she hoped these were still good tears.  
  
"I'll leave you to it. I'll be near the elevator if you need me."  
  
He nodded, still hugging the garment. "Thank you. Thank you so, so much."  
  
"You're welcome, Barnes, she said. "Guess I'd have your back, too."  
  
As she walked out, she could here the sound of his phone dialing.  
  
"Yeah, Steve, just heard your message..." she heard him say with a voice more composed that she'd expect him to have. "Still can't believe it..."  
  
She closed the door behind her. There was more to that conversation, she was sure, but nothing that was meant for her ears.

 

\---

 

Natasha had positioned the elevator in such a fashion that she could swing her legs when she sat down on the edge. It was one of those things she didn't really get to do much as a child, so she took a small joy in it now that she could. She knew by now how much time Barnes took to clean up, so she had taken the opportunity to change clothes, too - nothing fancy, just jeans, a simple top and a leather jacket. On her way here, she had managed to pick up an extra-large blueberry muffin, and she had stuffed a small candle in the middle. She was trying to light it when she heard the door open.  
  
Something that sounded like contained laughter made her smile. She looked up, smirking, but wasn't quite prepared for what she saw. Bucky Barnes had put on the uniform, and he was leaning against the door-frame with his arms crossed. He looked like he could be on the cover of a goddamn magazine in that outfit. It was a perfect fit, and it was strange how his demeanor was completely different than before, confident and playful. She had always been aware he was a handsome man, but right now he looked drop-dead gorgeous.  
  
"That's cute," he said.  
  
"Cute?" she asked, pulled out of her thoughts. "Right, this. It's all I could find on short notice. You like blueberries, right? Steve did say."  
  
He walked to where she was sitting, and took a seat next to her. His legs were too long to swing down like hers. He did keep a safe distance from her, and she swore he flinched ever-so-slightly when she stretched out her arm to offer him the muffin. Nonetheless, he took it from her and smiled.  
  
"It's perfect, Natasha. Thank you."  
  
She felt like this was all very silly, like he was only saying it to make her feel at ease. But, he tore off part of the pastry with his fingers, and put it in his mouth. He did seem to actually enjoy it, at least.  
  
She scraped her throat. This bdsm thing was supposed to have communication, right? Then why did she feel so awkward. She toyed with her fingers and didn't look at him directly.  
  
"I wanted to say...I might have been wrong."  
  
Only then did she look at him, and he looked positively amused, stuffing another piece of muffin in his mouth.  
  
"Wait, should I note this down? Mark this on a calendar? The day Natasha Romanoff admits she might be wrong?"  
  
He'd used humor as a defense before, but this truly did sound more like amicable teasing, and it made her feel a bit more at ease.  
  
"I shouldn't have used the Avenger thing," she said, and felt bad for even speaking it now. "It was convenient for the scene, but it wasn't fair on you."  
  
"It served its purpose."  
  
"That can be the end-all and be-all."  
  
"Think Hydra wouldn't have used personal stuff against me?"  
  
"Yeah, but I'm supposed to be better." She didn't even know how much that meant to her until she had spoken it. So many years of trying to atone for her past - and still, the doubt was always gnawing at her. Was she truly better? She'd been an assassin, and she didn't quite have the excuse of being brainwashed. Not in the same way, anyway.  
  
Her train of thought was interrupted when he held the half-eaten muffin in front of her nose.  
  
"Have a bite...colleague" he said. "Trust me, blueberries can brighten anyone's day." There was something terribly gentle about his tone that contrasted with the strong look of him in uniform - and right in this moment she knew he _did_ have it in him to be an Avenger. If she had been uncertain before, she saw a hero before her now. A hero offering her a muffin. She wanted to say something, but feared sounding sappier than Rogers. Instead, she tore off a part of the muffin. It was indeed quite delicious. A thought crossed her mind, and she decided to go with it.  
  
"I have a request," she said.  
  
"Okay?"  
  
"My own date in the black book. But, not for this. Let's say...a sparring session?"  
  
He took back the muffin and finished it. His expression grew more serious.  
  
"You want to know if I can fight you, don't you? Or if I get hard-on from being punched in a fight."  
  
Dammit, when did she get so easy to read? Oh well. No point in denying it now.  
  
"The thought has crossed my mind, " she admitted.  
  
He got up and stood to face her. She didn't quite know what to make of it, until he smiled again. "Alright, Romanoff. You're _on_. I'm so going to kick your ass."  
  
_Oh good._ She liked a challenge.  
  
"Talk is cheap, Barnes," she said, before she threw him the little book. "Make it official."  
  
"Anything the lady wants," he said as he scribbled down a date.  
  
Finally, now, she could breathe a sigh of relief . All in all, the day could have gone a lot worse.


	10. Kink and the Kitchen Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unplanned scene happens after an incident at the gym. Heed the tags. This chapter has no flashbacks or rape, but it has extensive and explicit mention of it. Also: Feelings are such annoying, tricky things ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TheAwfulDodger (https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwfulDodger/pseuds/TheAwfulDodger) for helping me pick the title!
> 
> This chapter was initially going to be longer, but didn't want to wait more months before updating.

Natasha stood on the other side room doing stretching exercises when Bucky walked in. She looked very different from the other times they were alone together. Her appearance was less threatening, clad in grey yoga pants and a crop top with a wash-damaged logo of a black cartoon cat. He noticed a pink sports bra under it, and caught his eyes lingering on it a bit too long, after which he guiltily cast down his eyes. Why did his mind even do that, he wondered. Was it a very old habit? A rebellion against his own body. Either way, there was really no point to it. All it could lead to was embarrassing himself in front of her.  
  
She was beautiful, though, she had to be used to men staring. He told himself it was alright to enjoy the sight of a beautiful woman, even if just on an aesthetic level. People did that, didn't they? Compare human beauty to art? If she were a painting, what would she be? A Manet? No, a Degas, surely, the way she moved.  
  
She smiled at him as he entered, and he had no idea if she could guess what he was thinking, though part of him couldn't help but feel like this was a trap.  
  
"Ready?" she asked as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and trapped it in a band.  
  
She didn't even wait for his answer before charging at him - but decades of training did not fail him. He avoided her kick gracefully, and she landed on the far end of the room with grace matching his own. Before he could even properly register it, Natasha snagged two batons from the table and came at him again, starting a barrage of short, quick attacks that he expertly deflected with his metal arm. She wasn't exactly going easy on him, but it wasn't an all-out assault. Only when he managed to block her several times, did she make a move that could have hit his face - but he deflected that, too.  
  
"Nice," she panted as she took a few steps back and held the batons up in defense. He knew what she was doing. He wanted to know if he had it in him to attack her.  
  
It was his turn.  
  
To be entirely honest, he wasn't sure he actually could until his body moved, mostly on instinct. There had been a time when he could not have raised a hand on someone he considered his superior - and he realized now that that was still very much what he considered her to be. But then he also remembered other times - fragments of his rebellions, metal arm throwing around Hydra goons. He had been punished for that horribly, of course, but at the time it had felt so _good_. He tried to tap into that feeling, and it filled him with new vigor and determination.  
  
He _was_ holding back on the arm at least, but it was not conditioning - not in that sense anyway. It was something much older still, an echo of his mother's voice reprimanding him for _not treating a lady with respect_ and God, he was so grateful for even the ghost of that memory.  
  
His brief reverie made him careless, and Natasha's leg impacted with his ribs. He got the air knocked out of him, yes, but she was still pulling her punches. He made a decoy move with his left arm, and when she blocked the blow with both batons, he moved his leg to trip her. She went down, but not without pulling him with her, his own leg in a vise-grip between her thighs.  
  
To his horror, he landed on top of her, terrified the weight of him might hurt her. He expected her to wince, but she gave him that smirk of hers instead.  
  
"Nifty move," she said. He wanted to smile back, but a punch to his windpipe made him gasp for air. "But mine are better," she added.  
  
Okay, so she had stopped holding back and she was not blaming him for fighting back, either. Catching his breath, he came at her. He had once again forgotten how fast she was. As he neared, she jumped up and climbed him like a rock, with more speed than a mountain lion. Suddenly he found himself with her sitting on his shoulders, and his head between her thighs. He knew this was one of her more powerful moves, good enough to take down even a supersoldier - at least temporarily - if timed correctly. He remembered this from before, from the bridge, when he had a flash of memory of who he really was for the first time in God-knows-how-long. Mixed with the memory was the smell of her,sweat laced with endorphins - the sex of her. Was it normal he could smell that, he wondered? Was it desperation that made him so aware of it, was it a side-effect of the serum...or was it part of his _other_ training?  
  
There were too many thoughts. He froze for too long, and her blow came through, right on his head. His vision blacked out and he felt himself going down, knees hitting the ground. He heard her swear and felt her crouch beside him. "  
  
"Sorry, I thought you could block that."  
  
He brought his hand to his forehead and rubbed there. "Should have been able to, but I...remembered. You, Steve, on that bridge..."  
  
"Ah," she said as she sat down next to him cross-legged. He tried to focus on not smelling her, on not being distracted. This was a luxury, after all, to rest when you were hurt.  
  
He felt pathetic, holding his hurt head like a child. His memories, his humanity...they made him less effective as a soldier, even though Steve always loved it when the person shone through. But what was he now, really? Not an Asset. Not even good for anyone's pleasure, really. Just a broken human who was mostly a liability.

To his horror, he realized he could smell himself, too - the wretched scent of his own cursed arousal. When he looked down at his crotch he saw his dick was half-mast. She followed his gaze, so she knew his dirty secret.  
  
"Maybe the others were right and I'm not battle-ready," he said.  
  
"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," she said and her voice was gentle. "You defended yourself well. And you're completely capable of fighting back, so that's great."  
  
"But I'm a liability," he said. "Might get a flashback anytime...and hell, apparently I _do_ react to getting hit. He glanced at his still-reactive member with disdain.  
  
"Tell you what...let's go to the room that Tony gave me here. Cause it's the one place I _know_ is not bugged around here."  
  
She offered her hand to help him up, and he took it eagerly.  
  
___  
  
Ten minutes later they were standing in Natasha's kitchen. The view was gorgeous, and he couldn't help but smile, even given the circumstances. Natasha took to crushing some ice on the counter, then wrapped it in a tea towel and handed it to him while pointing to the side of his head. He took it from her and held it to where she had hit him.  
  
"It's hardly necessary", he said, but smiled at her regardless.  
  
"I know," she said, "but sometimes I find it helps if I pretend to be a normal person, you know".  
  
He kept the improvised ice bag in place. "Then, by all means..."  
  
She moved closer to the window, green eyes searching the sky as if it were going to answer an unasked question. There was something in her expression he had not seen there before...something dreamy perhaps, or wistful - not something he'd associate with her character, from what he knew of it.  
  
"I love watching the sunrise from here," she finally said. "It's like the universe's way of saying: here you go, you get another chance to get this right today."  
  
"I think...I think there's some things you can never get right again," he said, feeling almost guilty to bother her with his gloominess.  
  
There was something in the way she moved her shoulders, something fragile, that he felt bad for witnessing. This shouldn't be his to see. Then, as soon as it came, the movement was gone and turned into a shrug.  
  
"If we stop trying, then what's the point?" she said, and turned back to him. She took a deep breath. "Anyway...as to matters at hand, two things we can do. We call it a day, or we find a way to fix your...issues."  
  
"There's no way to fix 'em, Natasha. Like I said, I'm a liability, it's not safe."  
  
"Too bad, Barnes. Already voted for you. I have a bone in this fight."  
  
She took out three sugar cubes, and put them on the counter in front of him. She met his eyes, then tapped the first. "As far as I can see, we have three issues here. One, flashbacks. Two," she said as she tapped the second cube,"someone might see if you're aroused, and three, arousal might impact your fighting ability." She ended up tapping the third cube when saying it, leaning on the counter across him. All he could think of was that her face was close _too damn close_ to his, and those green eyes could tear every secret from his soul.  
  
"Three is not a problem," he said as he averted his eyes. "I'm even more efficient when aroused. Rumlow once timed how fast I did a mission with ginger up my ass. Turns out I was faster."  
  
Well, that sure was one hell of a way to make conversation with a dame. _Good work, Barnes, can't even do a sparring session without being disgusting._  
  
"Brock...Rumlow?" he heard her ask, and that was definitely a quiver in her voice. He knew she could fake these things, but...why would she? She could have him on his knees quite easily without manipulating his emotions. He looked back up and her and yes...she was obviously biting back...something.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said with genuine sympathy. "I keep forgetting, he was your teammate."  
  
"Don't..." her voice jumped to a lower octave. There was almost something threatening about it. "Don't ever be sorry for that. I can't believe I was so blind, that we all were. Believe me Barnes, if I'd have known, I'd have torn him to pieces. And Steve...God, Steve, he'd have chopped them into smaller ones."  
  
"I know. And maybe then, you'd never have figured out Project Insight, and things would be much worse now. You know that. One abused POW doesn't weigh up to so many lives, and you know it."  
  
He realized for himself that it was the first time he used either _POW_ or _abused_ to describe himself. His shrink would probably thing it was a breakthrough. So would Steve. But was it? Was it really? In the end those were just the things that made him more broken, and gave him excuses to forget the people that he killed.  
  
"I know," she said softly as she moved her fingers to the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut briefly, nose crinkling. "Look my plan was to figure this out, but it doesn't have to be today, doesn't have to be now, if you feel..."  
  
"Vulnerable?" He interjected. "Vulnerable is good. For matters at hand, at least." He could already feel his cheeks blushing with shame, and a tingle in his cock.  
  
"Just to be clear, you consent to this?" she asked." I mean, I haven't planned anything, but we'd try out some things that are in the range of our...agreement."  
  
Bucky swallowed - but really, that was the core of what they needed to figure out. He nodded.  
  
"What's that, James?"  
  
"Yes, Mistress."  
  
"Good," she said. She lifted the sugar cube to his lips. "Here, get something sweet before we make this bitter." She fed him, as if he were her pony or something, and he took the cube from her hand reverently. He snuck in a light kiss on the palm of her hand. He half expected a slap, but it got him a smile instead.  
  
"Stay there. Let me just get something."  
  
She hadn't even really _done_ anything and he could feel a strange excitement.  
  
Natasha left the kitchen briefly and came back with a black box that she put down in front of him on the counter. She opened it at an angle he could easily look in. Inside the box was a collection of butt plugs laid out on velvet padding - he knew what they were called because the internet was useful like that. He could not help but look at them with interest, and he felt his cock give a twitch. She noticed - of course she did - and he mumbled an apology.  
  
"Don't - I mean we both know this is the stuff that gets you off?" She was right, of course, but he didn't quite know how he felt when she spelled it out loud. He was at that strange point where he did feel arousal, but had not been engulfed by it, and he felt awkward more than horny.  
  
"I was going to use some of these later on, but hadn't quite planned how. Look at them, touch them, tell me which one might be interesting to wear for the rest of the sparring session."  
  
Bucky's right hand shook as he touched them - there were maybe ten of them, made from different materials, in various colors and sizes.  
  
"Fun fact - Fury does not know this, but this was from my expenses account."  
  
Bucky heard himself chuckle, then flung his prosthetic to his mouth in horror. Why would he even laugh in a messed up situation like this? To his surprise she did too, seemingly surprised by her own reaction as much as he was.  
  
"It's okay,"she said. "Look I'm not...whatever this is, I'm not HYDRA, I'm not your enemy. We can laugh, right?  
  
"I guess," he said, and then, fueled with some confidence because of her words: "Will you look at them with me?"  
  
"Sure," she nodded and took the smallest in her hand. The little plug was sleek, made of metal. The end was decorated with a red gemstone that was shaped like a star. "This one probably won't be very intense, but it would useful if I'd want to put our ass on display, and you'd probably last a long time with it inside you." The idea embarrassed him, but also made him strangely tingly.  
She then took another. It was black and about the shape of a lava lamp , but not very big. He watched almost mesmerized as her fingers brushed over it, red nails contrasted with the black, and he did not know why but he wanted more of it. "This is the first one I ever got, but to be honest. I know your ass can take more than that now."  
He let out a jagged breath, and he was quite sure she was aware that this was doing things to him. The next one was a similar shape, but had a fluffy tail attached to it. Her fingers brushed over it gently and... _oh fuck_ he already felt like he needed something inside him. _Pathetic whore_. "I guess this one would be for roleplay, if we ever get to that point," she said. Another was again similarly shaped, but much larger and purple. She placed it in his hand, and he could feel the weight of it.  
  
"That's...heaver than it looks," Bucky managed with unsteady voice. She gave him a mischievous grin. There was another one that size, maybe a bit wider still, but black and curved. "That one's to stimulate your prostate," she said casually. "It vibrates."  
  
"Holy....holy crap," he breathed.  
  
"Does this arouse you, James?" she asked, voice deliberately sultry.  
  
"Yes...yes Mistress."  
  
He felt her hands on his hips as she pulled his pants and briefs to his knees in one swift move. He felt exposed, standing there with his erection in full view. He felt like crying. Why did his stupid dick react when he saw something even vaguely resembling a cock, but not when he thought of holding a beautiful woman in his arms?  
  
He realized, though, this was the first time she could see him erect when he wasn't a pitiful mess entirely. He saw her eyes move to look at his exposed member. Did she like what she saw, on some level, he wondered? And why should it even matter that she would?  
  
Mind clouded by arousal, he was braver then he should be. "Do you like what you see, Mistress?" he asked, and regretted it almost instantly. He should be beaten for that. Left in a cell naked lying in his own blood and someone else's cum for even thinking that. Instead, she just flicked his cock with her nail and he hissed in pain.  
  
"You're easy on the eyes, James, but don't you let it get to that pretty head of yours.  
  
He nodded and blushed, oddly proud, standing upright so she could view and use him however she pleased. He remembered he had felt that way with... _no, not now, not him, not here._  
  
"Right", she continued as she picked up a large, ribbed glass plug. "Some people swear by this. It's supposed to be pretty smooth, but you'd definitely feel it."  
  
"Definitely".  
  
There was another one, the head a bit smaller, but with little bumps on it, and tentacles at the base. It looked cute, actually. Like an octopus. She picked it up and rubbed her thumb over a tentacle. "Yeah, I figured maybe there will be a time when we'll mock HYDRA...or something. But maybe not today, huh?" He nodded in agreement.  
  
The next one was just a large black ball with a sturdy-ish base, and he wondered how the hell he'd get that one in. "You might need lube for that one," she said. "But it should stay in nicely once it's in place."  
  
God, he was _hard_ , the base of his erection pulsing against the counter, the rest of his cock on display to her. He needed...he needed one of these things inside him so badly. This was torture. Having her put it in would be torture, too. There was no way he could win this. It was so unfair.  
  
The next one was ribbed and very large, and he outright whimpered when she showed it to him.  
  
"What are you thinking, James?" she asked.  
  
He was helpless, pathetic. There was no point in lying. "I'm thinking how much that would hurt if you'd put it inside me. And how much I need that."  
  
"Hmm, I can do that, James," she said as she swatted his ass, "or I can use this one."  
  
The last plug was similar to the first, as in the sense that it was made of sleek metal. Otherwise, though, it looked big compared to it, large enough to fill his palm. Instead of a jewel it became thinner toward the end, and ended in a handle. The tip of it was curved, and he knew now that was to stimulate his prostate. When she gave it to him,he was surprised by the weight of it. It was heavier than even the larger plugs. He'd feel that, _deep_ inside him. _Lord have mercy_. His dick started leaking precum.  
  
"I'm told this one stays in pretty well. Might be a good choice for sparring."  
  
" _Yes,_ please do it Mistress, please I need it," he whimpered.  
  
"Patience, pet, I have to get the lube ready," she said.  
  
He dug the fingers of his right had into the counter, and those of his left into his own thigh - it was better to leave bruises there than to damage her furniture, especially if someone might see. Why was this doing things to him? Why did he like her calling him _pet_?  
  
"I don't...I don't need..." he breathed, but then he looked up to see what Natasha was actually doing. She was wearing yellow kitchen gloves. She had taken out a plate, in which she had poured some olive oil and was chopping two little red peppers. He could actually _smell_ just how spicy they were from there. That would _burn_. That would make the little ginger experiment seem like a training exercise. He saw her adding a few drops of chili oil, and rubbing the chopped peppers into the mixture. She worked her fingers through the fluid leisurely and he could stop looking, couldn't stop anticipating, and those goddamn yellow gloves would be so silly if he didn't _think of those fingers inside him, dammit._  
  
Without her even asking, he carefully pushed the buttplug box aside, closing it, only keeping the metal one out. He leaned forward over the counter, pressing his belly against it, ass out and ready to use. All he'd have to do now was to spread his legs, and he did. There was no point in hiding from her, she knew his depravity, she knew how used his hole looked, but she was the only one he could even hope to beg for release.  
  
"Eager, are you?" she grinned as she moved towards him with the plate, tea towel over her shoulder. He could feel himself shaking, every muscle taut.  
  
"Open your mouth, James," she ordered and for one horrible moment he thought she'd make him drink it first. Instead she rolled up the tea towel, put it in his mouth, and tied it behind his head firmly.  
  
"Not too tight?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Good boy. We can't have you alerting our friends." He nodded in agreement. She moved behind him, and he could hear one of the gloves coming off. He could feel her right hand touching his tentatively. "Take my hand," she told him, and he did, dazed both by his arousal and by the gentle touch of his palm against hers. "Okay, since you can't talk, just wrap your fingers around my thumb if you really need me to _stop_. And you can squeeze my hand if you need to either way, ok? He shook his head vehemently. _Hell no_ , he thought. He could hurt her. "James?" she asked, and he shook his head, trying to speak, but all that came out was "nggg uugghh duuuu whuuuu tuuu hurrrrt uuuu".  
  
She pulled off the makeshift gag again. "What is it, James?"  
  
"No. I won't. I could hurt you," and he suddenly felt strangely sober, despite his intoxicating levels of arousal.  
  
"James," she whispered, and she sounded like something out of a wet dream. "Have a little faith in me."  
  
He could almost _feel_ himself melt. He let her put the gag back in place, and let his fingers entwine with hers. Two gloved fingers of her left hand went in and _holy Christ it burned_. The makeshift gag muffled his cries and damn yes he squeezed down on her hand and dug his nails in. She did not withdraw, but she held him through it, and he did...he did have faith in her.  
  
"You're doing good, James. So good."  
  
He whined desperately as her fingers withdrew, his insides still on fire, and he heard the sound of metal against the plate. He knew what was coming - _bigger, harder, MORE_ and he wailed against the gag when so much as the tip of the cool metal touched his exposed hole.  
  
"Here it comes, James. Let me in," she whispered.

  
_Let me in._ Those words alone made him lose half of his sanity now. He didn't want to fight it anymore. He was a whore. She knew what he was, but yet she was here, and she was giving him what he needed. He'd obey. He'd let her do anything.  
  
She pushed and the toy opened him up mercilessly, the pain of the stretch intensified by the burn of the lubricant from hell, and he felt his eyes tear up as he was filled more and more. His knuckles were white as his fingers pulled hers in a vise-grip, and he heard a small cry from her before she stopped herself, pressed her sweaty forehead against his back, and drove the toy home. He gave one more muffled cry as she pushed to the hilt and hit his prostate...but after that...Yes, it still burned and yes he felt so _full and fucked_ but it was a manageable feeling, and he started to control his breathing. His grip on her hand loosened, and as if from an old instinct he started gently rubbing circles on her skin with his thumb. Just a few seconds later, he noticed she was doing the same, softly rubbing his hand in gentle comfort.  
  
"There you are. All done," she said as she pulled her hand free - too soon, much too soon - and undid the gag from his mouth. He took a few sharp breaths to compose himself, but he could do this. He was still incredibly hard. She pulled his boxer briefs and his sweatpants back up.

"Right, back to training," she said casually.

 _You're kidding,_ he wanted to say, but right now he was not in a state to refuse her. When she walked out to the hallway, he followed her obediently. He was acutely aware of the object lodged in his rectum, and he craved release - but he had been trained to be obedient. He could do this. He knew he always walked a little different when he had something penetrating him... _his murder strut_ Rumlow had called it, then laughed sadistically and whispered _ah, if only our enemies knew our weapon has a plug up its ass_. The memory of it made him shudder.  
  
It was only one floor down to the gym, and then a few hallways...he could make it. Except, when they arrived at the elevator it gave a _ping_. The door opened and they were met by a sweaty, cheerful Steve Rogers coming back from his morning run. Bucky wished he could sink through the floor. It broke his goddamn heart, those blue eyes looking at him like he was a precious diamond, like he was still worthy of the title of best friend. And dammit, he was still hard. Nat must have realized the problem, because she stepped in front of him.  
  
"Morning, Steve," she said with a cheerfulness that wasn't really her own.  
  
"Hi guys, Steve replied. "Didn't expect to see either of you here. So glad to have you on the team, Buck." He turned to Bucky, and smiled one of his million dollar smiles.  
  
"Yeah, same," Bucky managed with his best smile given the circumstances. It wasn't a lie...he was as happy as this life allowed him to be - but Rogers could never know the extent of it. Natasha knew that, and if she'd give him the chance he'd thank her _on his actual knees_ for shielding him right now. She was actually pressing her back against him, and her ass was _on his erection_ and what do you know, let this be the _one goddamn day it didn't subside immediately_ when he pressed against a beautiful woman.  
  
"What are you guys doing here so early?" Steve asked innocently.  
  
"Sharing Soviet secrets," Bucky blurted out before he knew it. Natasha laughed, the start of which he had learned to recognize as forced, but when both Bucky and Steve joined, even her laughter seemed genuine. Bucky felt so precarious and vulnerable, the metal plug moving a bit inside him as he laughed, his penis rubbing against his Mistress.  
  
"Relax Steve, we're sparring," Natasha said after the laughter had subsided. "I'll take you up on a round after we're done?"  
  
Steve nodded. "You know I have energy to burn," he shrugged," flexing his muscles awkwardly, and wait, was he _flirting_ with her? And why would it even matter if he was? But instead of continuing whatever that was, he turned to Bucky.  
  
"How about you, Buck? Wanna spar a round or two?"  
  
Bucky felt cornered, but he could do this. "Maybe later, Stevie. She hit me on the head, I'm not even kidding."  
  
"I did," Natasha interjected cheerfully. "By accident. To be clear. Wouldn't hit your friends on purpose. Unless they ask nicely." Her ass was still brushing against his crotch, and this was all just bordering on insanity. Steve leaned over to pat his shoulder and he thought: this is it. This is when this entire charade falls apart, shit hits the fan, and Steve finds out everything. But he only smiled amicably and said: "Well, anytime you like. Tell me." After that he just turned around, and presumably headed to his room.  
  
Natasha slipped into the elevator and he followed. She slouched against the wall and breathed a sigh. Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but she pressed a finger against her mouth and rolled her eyes up. Right. So the elevators were being monitored. Good to know. Just seconds later they were out and walking towards the gym, like nothing happened.  
  
Soon he was standing across from her again, fists raised, as she held her batons in a defensive posture.  
  
It felt different. The plug made him stand differently, even though the burning sensation was fading. He could notice the difference in his breathing, and he felt both light-headed and strong at the same time. Everything just seemed more _intense. W_ hen she came at him, her own breathing betrayed her a fraction of a second before her leg moved. He avoided her kick with ease. His cock was hard against his belly, and the plug moved in him as he moved, pushing against his prostate tortuously. It slowed down his body a bit, but it made his senses all the more acute.  
  
She attacked with her batons, a barrage of movements. Each of them could have been painful if they'd have tore through his defense, but he blocked each with lightning speed, and he noticed the exertion on her brow. She wasn't holding back now.  
  
He lunged at her, and she in turn was putting every shred of her concentration into blocking the blows of his left arm. When she was nearly with her back against the wall, she ducked and rolled away, managing to hit the back of his knee with her baton. He wobbled, but did not fall, and if anything he felt invigorated by the pain. He kicked at her. She blocked it, but he used the block to propel himself and flipped back, creating distance between them again. The plug fucked into him as he came back down and _he wanted this to stop no he wanted more._  
  
She jumped up, trying to squeeze him between her thighs again, but he stopped her before her legs could lock, right hand hitting her belly. The impact made her land on the floor on her back with a thud, and he could see her eyes bulge a little, but she composed herself instantly again, rolling back into defense position.  
  
Bucky punched with his metal arm - she blocked, but one of the batons flung from her hand on impact. The surprise took her off-guard, and he dove after the baton, grabbing it swiftly before rolling back to his feet.  
  
Going up against her was an unfair fight to begin with. Natasha was the kind off person who would never admit it, and he respected that. But standing here now, metal arm flexed, right hand wrapped around the baton it felt like overkill. And damn, he felt _powerful_ ,powerful in the way he had felt when he knew he could take out a target with ease, back when his mind was still messed up enough to think he was killing those people for the greater good.  
  
He came at her with full force, and for a fleeting moment he saw the glimmer of fear in her eyes, before determination returned to her face. She managed to block both metal arm and his baton with impressive speed. He could smell her sweat, hear her ragged breathing, and he wanted... _he wanted to hurt her for making him feel this, no he wanted to please her as his handler, no he wanted her to like him, no he did not WANT at all, there was only this incessant, humiliating need..._  
  
Bucky wanted to break out of his own skin. Instead he put all that anger, all that frustration in his attack. The next time she blocked, her last baton was knocked out of her hand by the sheer force of his blow. Amazingly, she was still not _letting_ him win, and she got a fist-punch through, hitting his breastbone and knocking the air out of him. It stopped him in his tracks, but only briefly. He grabbed her by the throat with his right hand, and slammed her against the wall. Her breath hitched in genuine distress.  
  
He could feel her pulse underneath his fingers. He could kill her, if he wanted. They were close, so close. He could feel her breath and it was such a fragile thing, human life. He was still hard pressed against her. She surely must have been aware of his erection, too. For just a second, he thought he could feel it - the sheer power and lust his handlers must have felt when the were fucking him, totally in control of another human being. For that one moment, he understood, and the next it made him sick to his stomach, sick to his very being. If there was a God then he thanked him quietly for the fact that at least Hydra never made him do _that_.  
  
A frustrated cry escaped his lips, and his metal fist punched the wall next to Natasha, sending some of the plaster flying.  
  
"Barnes?" she asked, voice contained but audibly terrified.  
  
"I told you," he said, feeling defeated, "even more effective."  
  
He let go of her throat, and slouched back, the sickness in his gut not fully subsided.  
  
"Right," she said as she rubbed her throat and composed herself, "that establishes that. I'll keep that in mind for combat."  
  
When he tried to lean in to say something there was the slightest flinch in her, and he decided that was not something he ever wanted to see again. He held his hands in front of him where she could see them, then moved them to his back, where they could do no harm.  
  
"Please punish me for this," he whispered. " _Please_."  
  
Her eyes looked worried as they searched the room for a camera, but she gave him a curt nod before she gestured to the door. He didn't know if he should be relieved, or of continuing this madness was the worst decision of his life.  
  
\---

  
They made it back to her quarters without further incident. Natasha’s pulse was still doing overtime and she could hear the blood pounding in her skull. As soon as she closed the door, he got on his knees for her without asking. Her primal brain couldn’t quite make sense of it. A few minutes ago, with his hand on her throat, he had been her enemy. She had been in rooms with enemies before – even acted normally around them, that was part of her trade. But the man slouched before her on his knees was not her enemy. Despite his muscle and size, he had the demeanor of a scared puppy. He was actually shaking. Her instincts were mixing. Should she be on heightened alert, or should she try to downplay what had just happened – for both her sake and his?  
When she tried to touch her throat as casually as she could, she could tell he was observing under his eyelashes, and when she winced, he winced with her.  
  
“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered. “Please do anything you wish, but don’t tell Steve.”  
  
“Wasn’t planning on that anyway,” she croaked out from her bruised larynx. She wasn’t fooling anyone on not taking damage, but at least he breathed a sigh of relief at her words.  
  
She slouched against the counter that still displayed the box of buttplugs, and took a deep breath as she crossed her arms.  
  
“What am I going to do with you, James Buchanan Barnes?” She rubbed the spot between her eyebrows, feeling her own frown there. She was asking him as much as she was asking herself. She had never signed up to be his handler, just the person who gets him off, but she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.  
  
“I will accept whatever you deem fitting.”  
  
“First tell me why you think you should be punished.”  
  
It was like something in him just _stopped_ , like the mechanism of a clock halting.  
  
“I do not understand, Mistress.” He said after a few uncomfortably quiet beats.  
  
Natasha walked closer to him, but stood far enough still to leap away if anything unexpected happened.  
  
“I’m saying…I’m saying that it was my idea to test how you fight under these circumstances, and it backfired, but it’s not entirely your fault, now is it?”  
  
Something twitched in this shoulders. “Permission to look at you, Mistress.”  
  
“Granted.”  
  
He looked up at her from under his sweaty hair, big eyes with the color of a stormy ocean looking at her pleadingly. Something was stinging in her gut, but she quickly pushed it away. “Permission to speak freely,” he asked, louder now, his voice sounding almost as raspy as her own.  
  
“Go on then.”  
  
“You should punish me regardless, Mistress. It will help with my…training. I know you are not my handler, I _do_ , but punishment will make me _know_ , even subconsciously I’m not allowed to hurt you. It would help me. We’d both be safer. Please.”  
  
Goddammit, she should have known not all of it was gone. Though, if he was conscious of it, that was good news at least.  
  
“So tell me…how were you usually punished?”  
  
Natasha saw fear flicker in his eyes, and then he swallowed audibly . She was _making_ him tell her, she realized, because he would not refuse her. He was going to give her examples on how to hurt him, how he was hurt, because she asked. There was something terribly twisted about that, but if she allowed herself to follow that thought, she’d have to walk out this room. And that was unacceptable at this point. She’d hear him out, because she owed it to him, because she had asked.  
  
“It depended on the era and the handler, I guess,” he said, and he pressed his right hand against his stomach, where it trembled. Was talking about this making him queasy?  
“Back when smoking was still acceptable in public, they once put out their cigarette buds on my ass and in…inside me. Mouth and ass. The mouth was worse, actually. I was beaten with telephone cord on several occasions, when they were still common. Some handlers used what was handy: one made me kneel on uncooked rice in a safehouse. Got my mouth washed out with soap, too. One time I was only allowed to eat cum for my whole time out of cryo, no other food. I sucked a lot of cock, because I was so damn hungry. High metabolism, and all that. Other handlers just gave me to the whole team to use as they pleased. Sometimes I was dressed up in lingerie and degraded like that. Or left in a cell without being allowed to clean myself with cum and blood in and on me. I recall being fucked with a tree branch as punishment once…took medical a while to get the splinters out. Those who didn’t like to fuck me just beat me very hard. My ribs were often broken – they heal fast, so it’s painful but won’t really impede my function. One of them liked to make my arm short-circuit…that shouldn’t be too hard to do, should you want that”.  
She saw his right hand curl up around his left shoulder, protectively. Was he even aware of that?  
“Then there’s the batons, obviously, though that wasn’t even punishment, they just liked that it made me _tighter_ but I’m sure there are ways you could…”  
  
“That’s quite enough,” she interrupted. Her voice was still hoarse, but she wasn’t quite sure if that was because of Bucky’s grip or because of his _words_ , because there was that feeling again, creeping up from her stomach, going up like bile, and while there was nothing in her mouth, all she could taste was bitter.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “That was more graphic that needed. I must disgust you.”  
  
“You don’t. They do.” It took all of her restraint to not just sit down next to him and give him a goddamn hug. But given the circumstances, she wasn’t sure that sort of proximity was a great idea now.  
  
Natasha composed herself best as she could. “I’m a few Hydra goons short for most of these,” she said as casually as she could muster. She didn’t quite have a grand plan, but she could improvise.  
  
“On all fours,” she ordered. He did so instantly. She pulled down his pants, and he flinched at the touch. “Still hard, I see,” she observed and flicked his hard organ. Another flinch. His muscles were taut, and every part of him was bracing for whatever punishment she’d choose to dish out. Ironically, of course, this would make it more unpleasant.  
  
“Spread,” she ordered. When his legs pulled apart, she could see the plug was still perfectly nestled in his asshole. She had to remember that one, it seemed to be doing its job well. She tugged at the handle, pulling it out slightly, only to push it all the way in again. He whimpered pitifully, and his cock twitched. She reached for the plate that still had held the spicy concoction she had made. Sitting behind him now, she pulled the plug out fully. Bucky – James? – gasped at the sensation, but stayed perfectly still. She wondered if even the noises were a concession to her. He seemed to have caught on to the fact she appreciated feedback. She wouldn’t be surprised if Hydra had wanted him quiet for this – though maybe some would have enjoyed sounds of distress.  
  
She dipped the plug in the spicy fluid again, rolling the the cool metal end in it. She knew he could hear it moving, know his inevitable fate even now. She could see him shiver, goosebumps on that perfect ass.  
  
“Do you need a gag this time?” she asked.  
  
He looked back, and pulled his right sleeve down, biting on the fabric, shaking no. She placed one hand on his buttcheek - then without much ado, she pushed in. His knees buckled, and he fell stomach-down on the floor, his muffled groans desperate and primal. She swatted his ass for good measure and a shiver ran past his spine.  
  
“Up,” she ordered, and sure enough he obeyed. He pushed himself back up on his knees, every limb shaking, pearls of sweat on his skin. He was panting and sniffing. It was an undignified sight, all in all, but she saw his strength there too - a superhuman endurance, and a near unbreakable spirit.  
  
“Stay here, James. I’m going to get my kitchen spoon,” she said as she was getting up.  
  
“No, please,” he stammered.  
  
“Are you safewording, James?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe.”  
  
“She crouched down next to him and placed her hand on the small of his back carefully. She wasn’t quite sure, but it felt like he leaned back into her hand a little. “Are you alright? Too much pain?”  
  
He shook his head. “I can handle the pain. Just...associations. Makes me think of when my Mom cooked. One of a few good memories.”  
  
There was something so very sad about that, something that made her want to wrap herself around him and hold him until her muscles would give out. But he hadn’t always responded favorably to her touches, so she just very subtly rubbed her fingers over his back.  
  
He let out something between a breath and a sob, but he seemed to have escaped whichever memory he wanted to push away. Whatever it was, it did not belong here. Not with her, not like this.  
  
“Would a belt be acceptable, James?”  
  
He nodded. “Yes, Mistress.” Loud and clear, that’s how she liked it.  
  
It took het a moment to pick one out. No tactical gear with extra pockets or buckles, nor her decorative Widow one, nothing that would catch on his skin and cause too much damage. She found one of her oldest belts, just a plain black one.  
  
He was still where she left him when she returned with it.  
  
“Get into a stable position, James” she ordered.  
  
He shifted his limbs, arms bracing, legs a little wider apart. She had full view now, his asscheeks slightly parted, the end of the metal plug gleaming between them.  
  
She doubled the belt over, steadying her grip, and let it smack down on his buttocks. The exposed flesh quivered under the stroke, but he didn’t budge an inch, didn’t even breathe a sigh, seemingly resigned to what she was dishing out. She gave him another, and another, and another - and still he held perfectly still. She checked for damage, running her fingers over his reddening buttcheeks, and only then he flinched, even if ever-so slightly, as if he wanted to escape her touch more than her belt. The belt itself had not done as much damage as she’d expect, likely because of his version of the serum, just faint red lines. She wasn’t planning to break skin today, anyway, more about helping him learn his place – if indeed that was a lesson he needed learning. She swatted his ass and he groaned, but still stayed in perfect position.  
  
“I think you can easily take some more,” she said.  
  
“Yes, Mistress,” he concurred.  
  
She moved back behind him, really putting some force into it now, giving him one lick after the other, watching his round ass bounce on impact, seeing ghostly red echoes of her punishment forming on his skin.  
  
He was getting harder again, the fullness of his cock visible from behind, and she knelt again, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, giving it a few jerks. He whimpered pathetically, but let her work his cock without protest. Soon he was full mast, throbbing against her hand.  
  
“This is only making you hard, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, Mistress,” he said, and she felt those words send a jolt through his cock.  
  
“I could beat you bloody, stuff a pepper right up your hole, and still you’d just come in my hand after if I let you, wouldn’t you?  
  
“Yes,” he whispered, barely audibly. She gave him a few more licks of the belt, the last one landing on his erection. He curled in on himself, making a heaving noise, but corrected himself within seconds.  
  
“Sorry, Mistress,” he sobbed as he struggled to get back up on his knees. “You are right, Mistress. I am a pathetic slut. All of this makes me hard.” Even being behind him, Natasha could see him lift his right hand to his face, and wipe at his eyes with his sleeve. There was something contracting in her chest, and she forced out a breath, willing the feeling to go away.  
She stood up, grounding her legs, balling her own fists, allowing herself to feel the power she had over him now. In that moment, she knew what to do.  
  
“You’re getting a choice, James. Choose wisely. Your punishment is the following: either I stop now, and you walk out here without release – or I allow you to orgasm, but then the plug stays in after your climax.”  
  
James let out a frustrated groan, another shiver running through his whole body. “You’d need to tie me down to keep in it after…after…” he said brokenly.  
  
“So, no orgasm, then?”  
  
He nodded meekly. Natasha was almost tempted to let it slide, but she did still need to work on that obedience, if for nothing else but their safety. She reached down to grab his hair, pulling it hard with one hand, while giving him a few mean swats on his already sore ass with the other.  
  
“I choose… not to orgasm…Mistress,” he managed between sobs.  
  
She pulled him to his feet by his hair. His legs were wobbly, and his gait was influenced by the plug lodged inside him. But he was pliant and obedient, following easily where she guided him. They ended up in the bathroom again, as they always seemed to do so, and she pushed him into the shower.  
  
“ Strip and stand against the wall,” Natasha ordered, and he obeyed by removing what was left of his clothes and placing both his hands flat on the far wall. She took the showerhead from where it was attached and put the setting on cold. As she turned on the water, icy drops landed on his back and ass, and he gasped at the sensation, but remained in position.  
  
“Turn,” she ordered, “and he did, the cold water landing on his erection, causing it to subside. She hosed him down fully, from head to toes. Only when he looked completely clean, and completely unaroused, did she turn off the water.  
  
He pushed the wet hair out of his face, looking at her with scared eyes. Strangely enough, he was slipping back into that odd chasteness now, holding one hand in front of his crotch. The other reached to the back of his buttocks, metal fingers making a clunky noise against the handle of the plug. He was shivering, and she was unsure if it was just the cold water, or also just nervous exhaustion.  
  
“Permission to remove it, Mistress.”  
  
“No”, she said more coldly than she thought she could muster right now.  
  
A desperate sound escaped his lips, and he looked like he was going to go down on his knees and beg, but he didn’t.  
  
“You will dry off and blow dry your hair with it inside you. When you are done, you will get dressed in the clean clothes I will provide for you. You will check in with me before you leave. You will go home after, and only then you are allowed to remove it. You will clean both the plug and your hole when you arrive there. You’re not allowed to touch yourself until our next session, which is also when you will return the plug to me. Is that understood?”  
  
He had his head bowed now, looking smaller than he was, both hands covering his crotch.  
  
“Understood, Mistress.”  
  
“Come to me when you’re done,” she said, and left him there, dripping wet.  
  


___

 

True to her word, Natasha made sure there were clean clothes waiting for him outside the shower. She had learned to just keep a simple tee and slacks around by now, but she was considering asking him to just leave a set of his own things with her – though, maybe that was more personal than was desired.  
  
The hum of the hairdryer was comforting, letting her know he was in a state to take care of himself, and buying her a little time for herself. Natasha rested her body against the kitchen counter and closed her eyes. She was tired, so very tired. She looked forward to using the shower after him.  
Carefully, she traced the skin on her neck, and just from how it felt she _knew_ it was going to bruise. No cleavage for a few days, something covering her neck if they had missions. Making the other suspicious would only make it worse. Her hand, too, could feel exactly where Bucky’s fingers had squeezed it, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know that.  
  
The sound of the hairdryer died down, and after some more clunky noises and water being turned on and off again, she could hear the bathroom door open. Bucky emerged into view just a few moments later. He smelled of clean clothes and shampoo, and, as always, looked surprisingly good considering the things they had just been doing. His gait was still a bit unsteady – because of the buttplug, no doubt – but barring that there was not much unusual about him. His hair was even longer than when she’d met him, and he had tucked one side behind his ear. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, mostly covered by the long black sleeves of the t-shirt she had given him. Only the glimmer of the fingers of his left hand gave away there was something unusual about him.  
  
He approached closer than she had expected him to, and only now she realized she still had her hand on her neck. His right hand started to reach out to her, but when she involuntarily flinched, he stopped mid-air and withdrew as if the oxygen itself had burned him.  
  
“Show me,” he said with a broken voice. There was something commanding in his tone, something she had never heard before when he was addressing her. For a second she thought about snapping back at him, establishing her dominance there, but she couldn’t picture his intentions as being malicious. So she removed her hand and tilted her neck.  
  
He made a hissing noise, as if he was in pain himself .  
  
“You should still do the other punishment, too,” he said.  
  
“I think this was quite enough. It was mostly an accident. I’m not out for revenge here.”  
  
He shook his head, and looked at her like she was a bit dumb; “It’s not about that. It’s about teaching me my place. I told you. It’s safer that way.”  
  
Natasha swallowed, not really liking the idea of punishing a man excessively for something caused by _her_ decisions. That made her feel closer to the people who had hurt him than she liked.  
  
“I’ll think about it,” she said.  
  
He nodded obediently, no longer showing any trace of the determined man who had stood before her mere moment ago. He looked meek now, if anything, head slightly bowed and arms folded again.  
  
“So I return the plug to you next time?”  
  
“Yeah,” she said. "Next time is fine".  
  
“Can I?” he asked as he motioned towards the door.  
  
“Yes, of course. We’re done here.”  
  
She needed to get more perceptive. She was usually better at this. But with Bucky, sometimes, he acted like a man wanting to stay right before he wanted to leave.  
  
As he was leaving, she decided to risk it “Maybe you could bring some clothes of your own. To keep with me. You know, for occasions like this.”  
  
“Sure,” he said.  
  
There was the faintest hint of a smile and the Bucky she knew outside of this room, the one who teased Steve and the other Avengers, would probably not have let this one slide without a quip or a joke.  
  
The fact that this Bucky did not jest now – not with her, anyway - bothered her more than she cared to admit.


End file.
